The Beauty of Burden Bearing

     A few months ago a dear friend invited me to attend a Bible study at her church.  Had it been a knitting club, I would have declined.  However, a Bible study I could do.  It was a wonderful study on the book of Colossians that ended before we had scratched the surface.  We learned so many things.  God holds all things together.  The wonderful mystery that is Christ in us, the hope of glory.  The beauty of being kind, showing love, and raising families that represent Christ.  Oddly, the greatest thing I learned was not in the passages that make up Colossians.

     On the last day of the study, in the midst of a spectacular spiritual battle, I sat there and listened as the other ladies spoke about what the study had meant to them.  We all had found something personal therein.  I couldn't decide what to share.  All I could think about was the heat of the battle I was in and how to endure.  When my turn came, I did something I have never, not once in my life, done.  I looked at those ladies of God, dissolved in tears and admitted to being so deep in a spiritual battle that I felt like giving up, throwing in the towel, walking away.  Alas, all was not lost.  I found in their midst encouragement to go on, prayers added to my own, and Bible passages I had forgotten existed.  More importantly, I learned the beauty of Galatians 6:2, "Bear ye one another's burdens..."

     I find it interesting that the Apostle Paul simply said to bear one another's burdens.  He offered no limitations, no caveats, no exclusions.  There's no mention of ignoring those who don't attend your church, don't dress the same way, or who don't share your views on every possible doctrine.  No, just a simple instruction to come alongside, encourage, pray for, lift up our fellow Christians no matter who, where, or what they are. 

     The ladies in that Bible study were a lovely example of this passage.  In the midst of my own confusion and trouble, they shared with me their strength and I was encouraged to continue.  Thus, I began to contemplate why we don't come to one another in honest need as much as we should--if at all.  Why don't we just walk in to Sunday School, church, Bible study, or small group and express our burdens so we can all encourage one another, pray for one another, and bear one another's burdens?  Why not?  At a time when there are support groups for every imaginable life issue, what's stopping us?

     Some would say that we are too proud, too cowardly, too much in denial to admit we are struggling.  And they might be right.  Personally, I think the problem is deeper.  I think experience, either our own or another's, has shown us that we will rarely receive the outpouring of grace I received.  So we hold back in abject terror.  Hold back because we are terrified to be judged.  Condemned.  Ridiculed.  Outcast. Gossip fodder.  Our fragile broken hearts couldn't bear another blow, so we hide.  Hide our hearts, our wounds, our scars.  We hide behind a smiling face, a breezy answer, a carefree laugh. We hide from the very people who should be our safe places, our confidants, our prayer warriors, our encouragers, our friends. 

     And why aren't we those things to one another?  Why, when we are on the mountain top dancing in the sun, singing lustily, why don't we look back down the mountain, remember from whence we came, and reach out a helping hand to the one who is struggling?  Why do we think we can overlook a basic command like, "Bear ye one another's burdens.." and still keep doing our own very selfish victory dance, ignoring the soul that is wavering?  Shame on us!  There is no excuse.

     But there is time to change.  For all parties involved--both the encouragers and those who need encouraged.  It's time to drop all the pretense and be totally honest.  Admit that, even if you are soaring among the spiritual eagles right now, you've travelled through a valley where the shadow of death loomed around every boulder, in every darkened orifice.  Admit that, although you have experienced the mountain top, the valley is extremely real to you right now, the path dark, your reserves failing.  Admit that it's okay to be in either place--although we certainly prefer one to the other.  These admission bring with them the freedom to be our true selves no matter what.  They urge us to pray one for another no matter which place we currently stand.  They call us to unite in faith, pray for one another, confess our faults to one another, encourage one another, and be healed.  They encourage us to band together in Christian love and banish the voice of the Enemy, one strengthening tie at a time. 

     So I'm hoping you'll join me in trying something new.  I'd like to make this an interactive blog post.  If you have something encouraging to say that's helped you along the journey, post it in the comments below.  If you are struggling with something and need prayer, post that too.  You don't have to leave details, you'll be prayed for no matter what.  Feel free to share your burdens, your praise, your prayers, your faith.  Most of all, know this from someone who understands the feeling that the valleys are more prolific than the mountain tops--I have slogged through countless deep, murky valleys, trudged across some horrifically drab and lonely plains, white knuckled up some astonishingly steep inclines, danced in some glorious meadows, and bellowed from some phenomenal mountaintops, but I have never, ever been in one of those places alone.  The Lord has been with me through every one.  Wherever you are right now, he is there too.  (Psalm 139; Psalm 23; Joshua 1:5,9; Isaiah 43:1-3)
    

    

Lest We Forget

A few months ago I received an e-mail about a boat adrift on our community lake.  Attached was a photo of a sad looking, yet still floating, vessel desperately in need of love and care. Not being the owner, I paid little heed.  A second notice came informing us that some kind soul had corralled and fastened the boat to one of the docks, but the boat was still waiting to be claimed--would the owners please step forward.  Finally, a third decree arrived issuing a date by which retrieval of the vessel must occur. If left unclaimed, it would be added to the fleet of boats held for use by association members.  Apparently it ended up there. I've thought little about it for several months.  Then I read the book of Hebrews.

Honestly, I read the book of Hebrews for the second time in a row. In a different translation. Because God told me to.  And now I'm thinking about that boat again.  Why?  Because I read Hebrews 2:1 in the New King James Version.  "Therefore we must give the more earnest heed to the things we have heard, lest we drift away."  Lest we forget to whom we belong.  Lest we forget for what we stand.  Lest we forget to live like it. 

Forgetting is so easy.  We settle in to our relationship with God. We get comfortable, complacent.  And we quickly forget the mire from whence we came.  We forget who we used to be.  We block out the ugly, the mean, the sin. We start to view ourselves as good people, deserving of Heaven, better than we really are. We forget that we are who we are because we have been bought back.  We forget that we are children of God, bought with a price--a staggeringly high price at that. (I Corinthians 7:23)  Remember Calvary?  Remember the pain, the suffering, the thorns? Remember the abandonment of the Father? (Matthew 27:46) Remember that he has realms of angels at his command but he chose to stay?  (Matthew 26:53) Remember it was for you, so you don't have to live in that dark hole of your sin anymore? (Romans 5:8) It's easy to forget, but we are so much better off if we remember.

Remembering helps us not forget for what we stand. It's not easy. Society wants us to forget our standards, our morals, our faith. Society wants us to be like it. Shamelessly drifting, tarnished by willfulness, untethered from our original moorings. Everyone seems to be forging their own path, picking and choosing their favorite bits of Scripture, tossing out those they dislike.  But we must not forget what we stand for and that we take that stance because the one who loves us more than his own Son paid a huge price so we have something truly fulfilling in which to anchor our souls. (Hebrews 6:19)

Remembering helps us live like we know whose child we are. God's children exude different things than those who aren't.  Confidence that we are loved beyond measure radiates from our being. Knowledge that the same measure of love is available for every person makes us treat one another with grace, respect, love. Compassion like Jesus showed the people who so desperately needed him fills our being as we look at the lost society around us. (Matthew 9:36) Our hearts yearn to save them all and we go out of our way to show them that Jesus paid the price for them.  Remembering makes us better neighbors, friends, co-workers.  Remembering makes us whole. (Ephesians 4:20-32)

So look around you.  Do you remember where you are on the big lake we call life?  Are you securely fastened to your original moorings or have the storms of peer pressure, the chanting voices of disillusionment, the flippancy that permeates our culture wreaked havoc on your soul?  Have you drifted?  Have you forgotten that you were bought with a price? (I Corinthians 7:23) Have you managed to mimic Peter--in word or deed? (Luke 22:54-62) Are you still recognizable as God's child? Do you still recognize yourself?

I find great joy that I can type this next sentence--greater joy that it is true.  Even if you don't recognize yourself, God does.  Remember the prodigal son?  (Luke 15:11-32) He had to be a charming bucket of nastiness walking down that road to his father.  Pig swill.  Pig sweat.  Pig stench.  No bath.  It didn't stop the reunion. We are no different.  We drift.  We fail.  We reek of our own willfulness.  But God recognizes us. He claims us, draws us close, cleans us up, and secures the mooring we left behind.  Amazing love. Unfathomable grace. Horrifically undeserving humanity. The scale seems uneven. Yet through the selfless sacrifice of Jesus we receive reconciliation with God and the right to cry "Abba Father." Why would we ever want to drift from that?



 

What's For Dinner?

Do you really believe God cares about the little things in your life?  Do you?  We all say we do.  When something horrific or monumental is happening, we claim faith in the passages that say your hairs are numbered (Luke 12:7), the sparrows are seen when they fall (Matthew 10:30), and the lilies are gloriously clothed by His hand (Luke 12:27-28). We staunchly submit faith that if God cares about those small things, then surely he is in control of what is happening in our lives.  We may even claim them when we lose our car keys, misplace our watch, or some other smaller thing.  And, to our credit, we give thanks appropriately, but what about those things that seem too insignificant to even mention?  You know those things you just assume God doesn't have time to hear about? Your haircut? Your fashion sense? Your cleaning routine?  Your menu? Really. What if we truly believed God cares what's for dinner?

This thought came to me on a cold, icy morning as I was struggling with my stressors, mentally listing all the things I have to do, musing about how the household runs only through my genius.(Maybe we'll address vanity one day!)  I felt crazy overwhelmed.  And a voice just seemed to whisper this thought to me, "Do you think God doesn't care what's for dinner?"  Well, that set me back a step.  Does he?  Does he care about these little things that I just assume he doesn't? Let's see. He took the time to whisper that question in my ear.  He took the time to adjust the number of hairs on my head after a handful came out with my brush this morning. And he gave me the wherewithal to fill the bird feeder outside before the cold snap so the little birdies (sparrows and more) would have a few grains of something that wasn't frozen.  Yes, I absolutely believe he cares what's for dinner.

I believe God cares what we put in our physical bodies. (No, this is not a diet post, I promise!)  I spend hours poring over recipes and cookbooks trying to come up with good, healthy, enticing meals for my family.  Often, we are on the run so much that it slips.  I need to work on that.  If our bodies are the temple of God, we need to do a better job caring for them.  Would YOU want to live in a rundown house?  More importantly, is it good stewardship of the body God gave you to treat it unhealthily?  Not likely. 

What about dinner for your soul?  Are you scrimping on the meat and looking only for the milk?  That's a problem. (Hebrews 5: 13-14) Milk is great, but it doesn't carry all the nutrients you need to thrive. And that's the goal, isn't it?  We should thrive spiritually.  The good news is, all you need to thrive is a Bible and your prayers.  Bible reading and prayer will feed your soul and make it strong.  But you need to spend more than just two minutes at it if you want to grow strong. And I challenge you to read the whole Bible--not just the easy, pleasing bits.  Slog through the "hard books".  I remember reading the book of Joel one time and actually saying to God, "I'm trying, but I need something here."  Guess what?  I got it.  Curious?  Go read the book of Joel and see what's there.  Go find meat for your soul because God absolutely cares what's for dinner!

I know this is an unusual post.  I rarely, if ever, write on the fly...which is exactly what's happened here.  But I wanted to share this here for my own good and hopefully yours too.  May we remember that whatever decision we have to make--from our hair color, your necktie choice, the dinner menu, or that fourth cup of coffee--God is supremely interested in every aspect of our lives. (I Peter 5:7, Psalm 55:22)  Let's go out and live like it!

And, by the way, what's for dinner??

Buying Love

           I have recently become deeply intrigued by the Old Testament story of Hosea and Gomer.  The reason eludes me. Perhaps it’s because I embody the phrase “hopeless romantic”, always rooting for the “happily-ever-after”, severely disappointed when it fails to occur.  Maybe it’s because I’m just as appalled as you are that God told Hosea to marry a prostitute. (Yep, it’s right there in Hosea chapter 1.) Most likely it’s because I am completely overwhelmed, totally astonished, and unendingly humbled by the epic tale of God’s intense love toward horrifically unworthy humanity.  

            Seriously, Hosea must have been just as appalled as us when God said, “Go marry a woman of whoredom.” (Hosea 1:2, paraphrase mine)  I wonder if Hosea did a double take.  Sort of a, “What!?!” Yet no matter how odd the command seemed, he does it.  He marries Gomer.  They have children together--and I’m starting my happily-ever-after dance--only to have Gomer throw it all away and return to her former lifestyle. What?!? What could she possibly be missing?  Insecurity? Uncertainty? I am deeply disappointed by her lack of staying power. I had hoped for more.

            As angry as I am that Gomer bolted, my pique is calmed and soothed by the beautiful response of Hosea. In spite of his anger, hurt, dismay, he does something worthy of residence in the great annals of romance. Working with divine inspiration on his side, he pulls out the most stunning response imaginable. Hosea goes out and buys her back.  You read that right.  He BOUGHT her back.  Amazing. Inspiring. The epitome of grand romance. But it’s the imagery that really catches my attention. 

            It takes a minute for it to fall in place, but I see it.  Israel is Gomer. They had strayed so far from God, continually playing fast and loose with grace.  They have no staying power.  They keep walking away. He could dump them, allow them to be eradicated, or annihilate them himself and create new people who would do exactly as they should.  But he doesn’t. He’s not even interested in doing that.  His love for those particular people is too intense, too overwhelming.  His longing for them is too deep.  His desire for them is too powerful for him to abandon them.  So he doesn’t. He keeps holding out an olive branch, hoping they’ll grab hold.  (Hosea 6:1, 14:1-7)

            The story echoes with familiarity. Deeply saddened, I realize that I too, am Gomer—not the prostitute, but the one who has no staying power. I am guilty of playing fast and loose with God. Filled with self-contempt, I admit that I deserve to reap the whirlwind (Hosea 8:7). I deserve to reap iniquity. (Hosea 10:13) Awestruck, I find that God has bought me back. In spite of what I deserve for past indiscretions, the enormous God of the universe has chosen to extend mercy.  He has chosen to love me freely. (Hosea 14:4) Suddenly, I am the leading lady in the greatest romance I will ever know.   

            Simple words fail to properly express how I feel about this revelation.  I deserve so much less.  I was a hot mess.  Yet God loved me so intensely that he chased me down, followed me into the dark alleys of my life, whispered love words in my ear, and sang a song of forgiveness so sweet it won my heart.  Unrestrained love cascaded over my broken soul, healed my self- inflicted wounds, and made me whole.  Mercy, grace, and the greatest love I’d ever known.  

How about you? Do you see yourself in Gomer? You should. Everyone is guilty of sin, of playing games, of turning aside for something so much less than what God has to offer. (Romans 3:23) You are no different. Like all of us, you are undeserving of his love, his grace, his redemption. Perhaps you have purposely opted out. Yet, in spite of your shenanigans, the great God of the Bible who created the world, turned water to wine, healed the leper, and gave sight to the blind is unfalteringly, unfathomably, unerringly in love with mankind.  No matter where you’ve been, what you’ve done, or how many times you’ve ditched your staying power.  You are the object of his desire, his deepest love, his greatest choice. 

           Need proof? See it at Calvary where your sins—that list of things that should count against you—are nailed to his cross and forever wiped away. (Colossians 2:13-14) Hear it in the words he whispers, “Come unto me all who are weary and heavy laden and I will give you rest.” (Matthew 11:28)  Know it as you cast your road ravaged self on his mercy, bathe your bruised heart in his love, and recognize the undeniable truth that you are complete in him. (Colossians 2:10)  In an act of achingly intense love, Jesus chose to buy you back when no one else would have given a dime for your redemption.  Because he is enamored with you, you were worth everything he had.  And he gave it so that you could feel his love.

           Will you love him in return?
         

God’s Greatest Rescue—Are You In?

             Have you ever paused a moment to contemplate the immense courage it took to be Esther of the Old Testament?  I mean really, I doubt the events listed there were her annual plans. I’m certain her resolution list didn’t read, “Go up to be the king’s concubine; try to become queen”?  I have a feeling she had no designs on being queen—or meeting the king, for that matter.  So I wonder what she felt most-- terror, confusion, anxiety? 

During that long year of purification prior to even meeting the king, how many times did she want to go home?  How many times did she wish she was doing laundry for Mordecai instead of prancing around in fancy robes, doused in spices? How many times did she question God concerning his ability to make-- or not make-- mistakes?  Did she know her presence in the palace was part of God’s great rescue plan? Was her relationship with the God of her people so personal that she trusted him even when the path ahead was dark?

I believe Esther trusted the hand and heart of God to work out her life.  As she stepped through the doorway and waited to see the king’s response, as the possibility of imminent death made her knees knock and her heart explode, the absolute assurance that she had been brought to the kingdom for this particular task (Esther 4:14) gave her the strength to step forward, enacting a rescue plan that would save her people from certain death. 

The rest of the story feels like a blur.  Haman signs his own death warrant, Mordecai is honored, and the people of God survive yet another in a long line of annihilation threats.  Among the multiple lessons that come from the story, one stands out most. God’s plan is perfect as long as we follow it.  The Esther account proves it. Each event in the account is another stepping stone to the path of rescue.  Think about it.

  If Vashti hadn’t had the courage to quit being the king’s party entertainment, there would have been no reason for Esther to go to the palace.  If Esther had never gone to the palace, Mordecai might not have had a way to get a message inside and save the king’s life.  If the king had been assassinated, the new king might not have loved Esther, making it less likely that the scepter would be extended if she went to see him uncalled.  If Esther had not been able to see the king, she would not have been able to help save her people. Although Esther might have been confused concerning why she was in the palace, God wasn’t. He was planning those events long before they began. God was preparing the path for a rescue.

You already know how desperately our world needs a rescue.   Read the news. Talk to a stranger.   People everywhere are searching for a rescue—from addiction, from fear, from sin, from themselves.  The good news is that God has already planned their rescue and has strategically placed his people to aid that effort.  He’s been planning it all along.  Were you wondering why you ended up in Podunkville when you’d rather be in the big, fast city?  Have you been there a while and still haven’t figured out why God put you there?  Do you feel confused about what’s going on in your life?  Is the path ahead dark? I know it doesn’t seem like it, but it's okay.  You have been brought to the kingdom, to that town, that church, that place, at this time to be part of God’s rescue.

You see, we tend to look around us and get downhearted.  We gather ourselves together and shake our heads, muttering how it surely has to be the last days.  And it might be.  I don’t know.  Neither do you.  No one does.  What I know is this—Jesus died for ALL those people we are busy shaking our heads over.  Every. Single. One.  He wants ALL of them to be rescued by his grace. (II Peter 3:9) And he wants ALL of us to do our part to make that happen. Reach out to the people next door, witness when the opportunity presents itself, exit your comfort zone and do something new.  Meet people.  Take advantage of every opportunity to show Jesus to others.  Do your part to exhibit and share the love, grace, and redemption you have received. You have been called to rescue the perishing.

 

           So are you in? I hope so. I hope you are reaching out to those around you regardless of their age, race, religious background, sexual preference, or personal creed.  I hope you are actively seeking to do your part to rescue the perishing.  I firmly believe you have been placed in your town, your community, your church to be light at such a time as this.  You have the amazing opportunity to be a participant in God’s greatest rescue operation.  How could you possibly refuse? 

Homebound By Starlight

It's the season for wishes.  Everyone makes them.  Wishes for new cars, new toys, new lives. Seems everyone wishes for something different, something new, or someone with whom to share that new thing.  I'm not much different.  I too wish for something I don't have, will never have.  I wish the Luke 2 account had more details. 

Who were those shepherds?  Did they own the sheep or just guard them?  Were they young?  Old?  Male?  Female?  Did they wish they were somewhere, anywhere besides that hillside that night?  Were they longing for the coming Messiah?  Or had they given up the wait, lost the longing, forgotten the forthcoming deliverance?  I wish I knew.

But maybe it's best I don't.  Not knowing allows my mind to conjure so many more scenarios.  Like, what if those shepherds weren't all boys and men?  We always seem to assume they were, but what if the untold story went like this?

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It was tax season in Bethlehem and our sweet little town was a bustling madhouse. People filled every nook and corner.  Or so I'd heard.  It's not like I was allowed to go see for myself.  No, that would make it possible for me to meet people--hopefully men--and that would never do as far as my parents were concerned.  But my brothers could go.  They could travel in from the outskirts of town and see the crowds, meet people, have a life.  The girls, though, they must be sheltered, hidden, and wed to complete strangers their father's deemed appropriate.  It was completely unfair!  I may be female but was in no need of such irritating coddling. 

 

I could go on and on (and often did) about the absurdity of the situation, but mental activity was wasted on that endeavor.  So, even as I bemoaned my female status, my mind was conjuring up a way to make a visit somewhere, anywhere and meet people--preferably men. 

And then I had it.  Literally.  As I did laundry, I realized I had my youngest brother's cloak in my hands.  Perfect.  We were about the same size.  Yep.  The plan became clearer. 

 

I bundled the cloak away with my things all the while plotting out the rest of the day's activities and going about them much more lightheartedly than usual.  I wonder if anyone noticed.  Oh, well.  Tonight I would actually get to meet people, even if those people were just other shepherds.  This would be fantastic!

 

It was horrible.  The cloak was longer, heavier, and more cumbersome than I realized. Probably because he needed to use it to carry lambs from time to time. Why didn't I think of that?  By the time I was able to sneak out of the house, it was darker than I anticipated and I could only hope I would stumble across the other shepherds before becoming a midnight snack for some ferocious beast. Wonder why that never crossed my mind?  And it was colder than I ever thought it would be.  I should have worn more clothing underneath the cloak. Hindsight may be clearer than foresight, but it is absolutely not warmer!

Of even greater concern was the fact that if I got in too much light from the fire or spoke without thinking to lower my vocal register, the other shepherds would immediately know I was an interloper.  As far as plans go, it was stellar.  Execution of the plan?  Only the outcome could tell if it was worth it.  I could only hope.

 

Eventually, I arrived at the small fire where the shepherds and sheep were gathered. It was a miracle I found them.  Even I didn't realize how much of a miracle it was.  The ones who were awake seemed surprised to see me but didn't question me too closely.  Thank goodness. I wished I could get closer to the fire.  Alas, the risk was too great since one of those sleeping shepherds was my oldest brother.  Discovery by him would be a fiasco!  I chose instead to sit against a nearby tree, study my surroundings, and silently revel in my cunning plan. 

 

Then brother number one woke up.  Oh, this was going to be bad.  The brothers never came out with the sheep together.  Of course, one helpful friend decided to immediately inform him that his younger brother had joined them.  How did he immediately know it was me?  And what kept the top of his head from just exploding right off as he realized the foolish risk--his words, not mine--I had taken in coming out to the field in the middle of the night? We'll never know the answer to that exploding head question because at that moment a rescuing angel appeared.

 

Literally.  I was rescued from a lecture by an angel that appeared in the night sky.  We were too terrified to be mad.  As we huddled together for safety and stared upward in awe, the angel told us not to be afraid.  He also said the Savior had been born in our normally sleepy, currently crazy little town.  Just as my mind was trying to think where a babe would safely be born in the mess that was our town at tax season, the angel told us.  He was in a stable, in the straw of a manger, wrapped only in old rags on a night that was freezing my hair. 

 

At that moment, a million (maybe more or less as my counting isn't so good when I'm struck with awed terror) angels joined him and they all broke into a beautiful rendition of "Glory to God".  And then, just like they came, they were gone.  We stared at each other for just a moment, then by common agreement abandoned the sheep and headed into Bethlehem.  This we had to see. 

 

We came to a halt some time later, panting and gasping for breath. As far as we'd run, we were still stopped more by the sudden realization that we didn't know exactly where to find the babe than by the exertion. There were a zillion stables in Bethlehem and not one owner would want to be wakened in the middle of the night by prowlers in his stable.  I flopped back on the grass in an attempt to replenish the air in my lungs more effectively and that's when I saw it.  A huge, bright star sitting in the sky.  I'd never seen it before and since staring at the stars was something even girls were allowed to do, I'd done a lot of it.  I instantly knew the star was our guide.

 

Once again we took off in the direction of the guiding star.  And things started to look more and more familiar.  Yep, we were headed to our very own stable.  So much for sneaking back in before daylight. But then we got there and that little boy in the manger stole my heart.  He was so little, so perfect and the stable was filled with feelings of peace and homecoming.  Not just a feeling of being home, but of being in the presence of the one with whom you belong.  I didn't understand it all, but I knew in my heart that he truly was the Savior, the Son of God.  I had found the boy for whom I searched, the man that would make my life fulfilled.  I was home. 

 

And that's my story.  I set out on an adventure to meet and choose my man, my way, on my terms.  And I did.  And he brought me home.  Home to my family.  Home to fulfillment.  Home to him.

 

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So this Christmas, I wish you love, peace, and joy.  I wish for you to find your fulfillment, your contentment, your definition in the baby found in the manger that night. I wish for you to allow him to be your home.

Merry Christmas!

 







 



If Only We Believed

          I find myself increasingly concerned with the lack of faith exhibited by many Christians today. Oh, we still believe God can heal, forgive, bring jobs, and send financial help.  Our problem is that we don't seem to have faith that he can bring back the fire of the Holy Spirit in our churches.  More alarming is the fact that we seem to be fine with that.  We look around at all the larger than life issues going on in our world and fail to believe that God can bring back wayward people, change horrific outcomes, and bring back the revivals of which we've only read.  Immobilized with fear over current events, we hunker down in self preservation.  We contemplate our next move like a chess player going for the tournament win.  We forget to pray.  We forget to trust.  We get locked in a spiritual holding pattern.  And we stop believing that faith in God can change it all.
        

         The truth is, we are a bunch of finite humans trying to measure the ability of an infinite God. We are trying to determine what his next move will be instead of asking his next move to be the one thing we need the most.  Revival.  We are desperate for it.  Our souls are dry, barren places that need the promised water poured on them. (Isaiah 44:3) Our world needs us to be revived, because we still have work to do here.  Thus it behooves us to ponder this, what if we reclaimed the faith that brings revival?

            I spend a lot of time thinking about this, and when I do, this is what I see...  Our faith unleashes intense, burning revivals that completely change lives.  Our churches burst at the seams every Sunday.  Our pews are empty because the power and glory of God are so real among us that we can’t keep off our feet.  I can almost hear the shouting, the praising.  It's Heaven on earth.  No one watches the clock. No one sneaks out early.  No one leaves without a blessing.

            Because we live every week in joyous anticipation of the following Sunday, our communities see Christian change—then experience it.  We take back our city, our state, our country for Jesus. The headlines of the news are no longer a list of alleged injustices, but the amazing revivals that are sweeping the land.  Faith in God is no longer the exception, but the rule.  Our hearts are inexhaustible wells of faith, peace, and love.

            If you’ve read this far and find yourself snorting in derision because revivals like this aren't going to happen in our day, stop reading.  Put your Bible on the shelf—or donate it to someone who will use it—and tell God you don’t believe his promises, his power, or his purpose.  For me, I know and fully believe these things: Jesus Christ is always the same, (Hebrews 13:8) the God who spread Pentecostal fire on the people in Acts (Acts 2) is still able to do it for us,  and the circumstances of our world have not shortened his hand nor rendered him incapable.  If your God isn’t big enough to send worldwide revival, then you are serving the wrong God. 

            In Mark 9:17-27, we find the account of a distraught father whose son is on the brink of destruction.  Desperate to see his child delivered from the evil spirit that inhabited him, he brings his son to the  disciples only to find them unable to help him.  In an effort born of helpless distress and intense desire, he came to Jesus, begging for a miracle.   Jesus looks at him and says, "If thou canst believe, all things are possible to him that believeth." (v.23,KJV)  The father can hardly believe his ears.  Simply believe?  What if it doesn't work?  What if his faith is misplaced?  But he's out of options and soon will be out of time.  So he musters what faith he can find in his soul, casts it on Jesus, and gets a miracle.

          Are we so different from that father?  Are we any less desperate for a miracle?  Are we willing to settle for a faithless form of Godliness that tricks ourselves but no one else? Or is our faith, our belief in the power of God, enough to pull us back from the brink?  You already know the answer; our saving grace comes only through unwavering faith in our omnipotent God.  The God who promised that nothing was impossible if we only believe.

       So tell me, do you believe?