Where Faith and Facts collide

I’m more than flesh and bone. Right?

Surely this isn’t all there is. Is it?

The wind was blowing so violently today. Trees were bowing to its power as dust clouds from the roadway construction danced on the busy streets.

I try to take the stairs at work, at least when I’m descending from the 4th floor back to the 1st. I love this stairwell. It’s between the 2nd and 3rd floor that I always pause and look out the larger than life windows. Today was no different. I stopped, looked out the window and watched as the trees danced in the breeze. It was so beautiful.

I can’t see the wind, but I know it exists. It is abundantly clear when branches of trees sway in surrender as their leaves are torn away. I don’t ever question whether the wind is real. I just believe it to be…because it is.

It is not unlike my faith. I don’t always appreciate its power until I’m surrendering to something in an effort to move forward or simply survive. In fact, there are times when I go days without thinking about what faith really means. I have it in my back pocket for when I need it.

As I opened the stairwell door to the first floor, visions of the 25 yr. old who jumped to her death only weeks before flooded my mind.

I will never look at those stairs and sidewalk just outside our doors the same way again. It’s haunting when recalling that day. I wonder if she thought there was something more than this life or that this is all there is?

There are times when I think about eternity and it is too much for my mind to take in. I begin thinking, “What if when we die nothing happens? It’s just…over.” a certain sickness comes over me when I question this because everything I know tells me that there is more. So much more.

And then the voice of doubt creeps in and says, “But what if you’re wrong and all of your striving and praying, giving and loving is for naught. What if you’ve been tricked into believing something that simply is not there?”

Then the voice of truth speaks up and says, “But what if you’re right? There’s more. More to this life now. More to this life after.”

And it leaves me knowing that I would rather be wrong in believing that there’s more than this life…a God in heaven who loves me with a love that my brain does not have the capacity to understand…a Savior who gave his life so that I don’t have to perish in my sin…a day when all will be well with my soul…

I would rather live a life, believing that what God says is true and that He is faithful, than to dismiss as silliness the ache in my soul for something not of this world and discover when it’s too late that I was wrong.

“This may sting a little”

I am putting myself through laser treatments to take care of some things that have been bothering me for a while. I’m not sure what I was thinking “laser treatment” is, but for some reason I was not associating it with being burned.

Well…that’s exactly what it is…being burned.

The pain was excruciating and I told the doctor if I could have reached him, I would have punched him in the throat. He just smirked and said, “It will all be worth it when we reach the final treatment and you see the finished product. Have a good day, Mrs. Cannis. See you next time.”

I thought, “Next time?! There won’t BE a NEXT TIME!”

I cried like a baby. The burning continued for several hours. I felt like my nerves were on fire. Tylenol didn’t help (which is what they recommend for “mild” discomfort.) I have had enough medical procedures to know that when a doctor says, “You will have mild discomfort.” What he really means is, “This is going to bring you to your knees, make you whimper like a child and wonder why you ever agreed to this treatment.” The “mild discomfort” burned like hell fire.

24 hours later, I was to remove the bandages for the first time. They had warned that there may be a blister. Thankfully my hubs was a medic so I had him look at it. (Sexy, right? Not even a little.) They had given me a small needle to puncture any blistering, clean it, coat it with antibiotic ointment and re-cover.

At first glance, Chris said he counted about 15 small blisters.
“WHAT?! Why did I do this?!” The tears began to well up in my eyes and the lump was forming in my throat.

“Are you ready?” he asked.

“Um…I guess so? I don’t know? WAIT!”

Did that hurt?”

“No.”

“Good. Only 14 more to go.”

Why am I telling you this in such graphic detail? I’m getting to that. Just stay with me.

The following day, when I removed the bandages, there were only two blisters. Hopefully tomorrow there won’t be any.

I am going through some painful things to reach the desired outcome. I have been asking myself for 2 years, “Is it worth the pain I will have to go through to get where I want to be?”

I finally decided that it was.

There will be several more treatments. I will be fortunate if it is less than 5. As the doctor told me, “Each time, it’s gets easier.”

When I had wiped the mascara from my face and regained composure, I realized that I really didn’t hate the doctor and I started thinking about what I could learn from the pain.

Upkeep on our body is costly and with age comes more expense. Some of the maintenance is chosen while some is required. Whether it’s maintaining beautiful brows, hair color, muscle tone, etc., it takes work.

Why do I think that beautifying and maintaining my spiritual life will be painless and require little to no effort?

If this temporary physical shell that I’m inhabiting takes so much work, how could I ever believe that the eternal spiritual would thrive without any attention?

I call myself a follower of Christ. I try to live like he did. I fail miserably at times, but I start over and try again. I pray throughout the day, little 1-2 sentence prayers to stay in constant communication. But when was the last time I actually set aside time to meditate and have uninterrupted time with my God?

If I am plucking my eyebrows more often than spending a few intentional moments with my Savior, I am missing it.

Just as the cool antibiotic ointment soothes my laser induced burns, time spent nurturing my spiritual being is like salve to my weary soul and heavy heart.

Are you finding the time and resources for physical maintenance while allowing your spirit to starve? Or, are you the exact opposite? I would love to hear your routines and practices for not only maintaining, but thriving from the inside out.

Weekly Photo Challenge: Sun

Sun
Warmth
Light
Healing
Rainbows
Perspective
Hope
New Life

Prostitutes have birthdays too

A fellow blogger and friend suggested I read this as she knew how much I would like it. She was right! I promise I have not turned this blog into sermon central, but I did want to share this from Tony Campolo with you. It made me think of all the times I miss opportunities to be Christ through my actions not my words. Thank you Pam for sharing this with me.

I had to go to speak in Honolulu. Well, sometimes you get L.A. and sometimes you get Honolulu. If you go to Honolulu, because of the distance from the east coast where I live, there’s a six‐hour time difference. And I woke up at about three o’clock in the morning and I was hungry and I wanted to get something to eat. But, in a hustling city like Honolulu at three o’clock in the morning, it’s hard to find anything that’s open. Up a side street, I spotted this greasy spoon, and I went in.

It was one of these dirty places and they didn’t have any booths, just row of stools at the counter. I sat down a bit uneasy and I didn’t touch the menu. It was one of those plastic menus and grease had piled up on it. I knew that if I opened it, something extraterrestrial would have crawled out. All of the sudden, this very heavy‐set, unshaved man with a cigar came out of the back room, put down his cigar, and said, “What do you want?”

I said, “I’d like a cup of coffee and a donut.”

He poured the coffee and then he scratched himself and, with the same hand, picked up the donut. I hate that. So, there I am, three‐thirty in the morning, drinking my coffee, and eating this dirty donut. And into the place comes about eight or nine prostitutes. It’s a small place, they sit on either side of me, and I tried to disappear.

The woman on my immediate right was very boisterous and she said to her friend, “Tomorrow’s my birthday. I’m going to be thirty‐nine.”
Her friend said, “So what do you want me to do? Do you want me to sing happy birthday? Should we have a cake? a party? It’s your birthday.”

The first woman said, “Look, why do you have to put me down? I’ve never had a birthday party in my whole life. I don’t expect to have one now.”

That’s all I needed.
I waited until they left and I called Harry over and I asked, “Do they come in here every night?
He said, “Yes.”
I said, “The one right next to me…”
“Agnes.”
“Tomorrow is her birthday. What do you think about decorating the place? When she comes in tomorrow night, we’ll throw a birthday party for her. What do you think?”

He said, “Mister, that is brilliant. That is brilliant!” He called his wife out of the back room. “Jan, come out here. I want you to meet this guy. He wants to throw a birthday party for Agnes.”

She came out and took my hand and squeezed it tightly, and said, “You wouldn’t understand this, mister, but Agnes is one of the good people, one of the kind people in this town. And nobody ever does anything for her, and this is a good thing. I said, “Can I decorate the place?” She said, “To your heart’s content.”

I said, “I’m going to bring a birthday cake…
Harry said, “Oh no! The cake’s my thing!”

So, I got there the next morning at about two‐thirty. I had bought the streamers at the K‐mart, strung them about the place. I had made a big poster – “”Happy Birthday Agnes” ‐ and put it behind the counter. I had the place spruced up. Everything was set. Everything was ready.

Jan, who does the cooking, she had gotten the word out on the street. By three‐fifteen, every prostitute was squeezed into this diner. People, it was wall‐to‐wall prostitutes and me!

Three‐thirty in the morning, in come Agnes and her friends. I’ve got everybody set, everybody ready. As they come through the door, we all yell, “Happy birthday Agnes!”

In addition, we start cheering like mad. I’ve never seen anybody so stunned. Her knees buckled. They steadied her and sat her down on the stool. We all started singing, “Happy birthday, happy birthday, happy birthday to you!”

When they brought out the cake, she lost it and started to cry. Harry just stood there with the cake and said, “All right, knock it off Agnes. Blow out the candles. Come on, blow out the candles.” She tried, but she couldn’t, so he blew out the candles, gave her the knife, and said, “Cut the cake, Agnes.”

She sat there for a long moment and then she said to me, “Mister, is it okay if I don’t cut the cake? What I’d like to do, mister, is take the cake home and show it to my mother. Could I do that?” I said, “It’s your cake.” She stood up, and I said, “Do you have to do it now?”

She said, “I live two doors down. Let me take the cake home and show it to my mother. I promise you I’ll bring it right back.” And she moved toward the door carrying the cake as though it was the Holy Grail. As she pushed through the crowd and out the door, the door swung slowly shut and there was stunned silence. You talk about an awkward moment. Everyone was motionless. Everyone was still. I didn’t know what to say.

So, I finally said, “What do you say, we pray?” It’s weird looking back on it now. You know a sociologist leading a prayer meeting with a bunch of prostitutes at three‐thirty in the morning in a diner. But, it was the right thing to do.

I prayed that God would deliver her from what dirty filthy men had done to her. You know how these things start ‐ some ten, eleven, or twelve‐year‐old girl gets messed over and destroyed by some filthy man and then she goes downhill from there. And men use her and abuse her. I said, “God, deliver her and make her into a new creation because I’ve got a God who can make us new no matter where we’ve been or what we’ve been through.” And I prayed that God would make her new.

When I finished my prayer, Harry leaned over the counter and he said, “Campolo, you told me you were a sociologist. You’re no sociologist, you’re a preacher. What kind of church do you belong to?”

In one of those moments when you come up with just the right words, I said, “I belong to a church that throws birthday parties for prostitutes at three‐thirty in the morning.”

I’ll never forget his response. He looked back at me and he said, “No you don’t, no you don’t. I would join a church like that!

Wouldn’t we all? Wouldn’t we all like to belong to a church that threw birthday parties for prostitutes at three‐thirty in the morning? Well, I’ve got news for you. That is the kind of church that Jesus came to create. He came to bring celebration into people’s lives that have had nothing to celebrate.

This is true religion, says the epistle of James, to visit the fatherless, the widows, and the afflicted and bring celebration into their lives. He is the Christ who saves you from sin and fills you with his joy, commissions you to go out and to spread that joy to the world because the Lord has come.

The Lord has come. It’s a joy that comes from forgiveness of sins. It’s a joy that comes when you spread it to others by the grace of God. But lastly, it’s a great joy that is able to permeate your life even in the midst of hard times. Even in the midst of suffering. That’s what makes it different from happiness. Happiness depends on what happens. Joy is something that keeps you going even when what is happening isn’t going well at all.

You’re sick, have cancer, trouble with your children, marriage falling apart ‐ and in the midst of it all, we have these words from scripture, from Romans 8:28, “In the midst of all that’s going on, all the messes of your life, God is there with you, and he will enable you to bring something good out of it all if you just trust in him and allow his spirit to work through you to this end.”

You may ask, “Do we understand each other?” Nevertheless, what you’re thinking is, “You don’t understand. I’ve got a daughter. She’s on drugs my son’s messed up; he’s in jail. And it’s hopeless.” It’s never hopeless.

In the words of that great American theologian Yogi Berra, “It ain’t over till it’s over.” God will not give up on you or on your family. God will not give up on his world. He didn’t come into the world to condemn the world but to deliver it and to give to the world joy, joy, joy, joy, unspeakable joy.

I invite you to the Christ who will give you joy because your sins will be forgiven. Who will give you joy because he commissions you to share that joy with other people. And when the dark times come and the sorrows of life overwhelm you, there will be joy because you will know that beyond the present time is the glorious present, the glorious gift that God has in store for all who trust in him.

© Copyright Hour of Power 2009. This message was delivered by Tony Campolo from the pulpit of the Crystal Cathedral and aired on the Hour of Power, September 27, 2009.

It’s Friday, but Sunday’s Coming

Dr. Campolo tells how he preached the perfect sermon in every way and had taken the congregation to ‘the heights of glory’. As he sat down beside his pastor, Dr. Tony patted him on the knee and simply said, “Top that.” The older black pastor looked at him and said, “Boy, watch the master.” Then Dr. Campolo recalls for us the very brilliant message which followed.

The following is a short printed version of the 45 minute sermon–the printed version doesn’t really do justice to the original, but you can at least get an idea what the last part is like:

It’s Friday. But Sunday’s coming—

It was a simple sermon, starting softly, building in volume and intensity until the entire congregation was completely involved, repeating the phrases in unison. The sermon went something like this.

It’s Friday. Jesus is arrested in the garden where He was praying. But Sunday’s coming.

It’s Friday. The disciples are hiding and Peter’s denying that he knows the Lord. But Sunday’s coming.

It’s Friday. Jesus is standing before the high priest of Israel, silent as a lamb before the slaughter. But Sunday’s coming.

It’s Friday. Jesus is beaten, mocked, and spit upon. But Sunday’s coming.

It’s Friday. Those Roman soldiers are flogging our Lord with a leather scourge that has bits of bones and glass and metal, tearing at his flesh. But Sunday’s coming.

It’s Friday. The Son of man stands firm as they press the crown of thorns down into his brow. But Sunday’s coming.

It’s Friday. See Him walking to Calvary, the blood dripping from His body. See the cross crashing down on His back as He stumbles beneath the load. It’s Friday; but Sunday’s a coming.

It’s Friday. See those Roman soldiers driving the nails into the feet and hands of my Lord. Hear my Jesus cry, “Father, forgive them.” It’s Friday; but Sunday’s coming.

It’s Friday. Jesus is hanging on the cross, bloody and dying. But Sunday’s coming.

It’s Friday. The sky grows dark, the earth begins to tremble, and He who knew no sin became sin for us. Holy God who will not abide with sin pours out His wrath on that perfect sacrificial lamb who cries out, “My God, My God. Why hast thou forsaken me?” What a horrible cry. But Sunday’s coming.

It’s Friday. And at the moment of Jesus’ death, the veil of the Temple that separates sinful man from Holy God was torn from the top to the bottom because Sunday’s coming.

It’s Friday. Jesus is hanging on the cross, heaven is weeping and hell is partying. But that’s because it’s Friday, and they don’t know it, but Sunday’s a coming.

And on that horrible day 2000 years ago, Jesus the Christ, the Lord of glory, the only begotten Son of God, the only perfect man died on the cross of Calvary. Satan thought that he had won the victory. Surely he had destroyed the Son of God. Finally he had disproved the prophecy God had uttered in the Garden and the one who was to crush his head had been destroyed. But that was Friday.

Now it’s Sunday. And just about dawn on that first day of the week, there was a great earthquake. But that wasn’t the only thing that was shaking because now it’s Sunday. And the angel of the Lord is coming down out of heaven and rolling the stone away from the door of the tomb. Yes, it’s Sunday, and the angel of the Lord is sitting on that stone and the guards posted at the tomb to keep the body from disappearing were shaking in their boots because it’s Sunday, and the lamb that was silent before the slaughter is now the resurrected lion from the tribe of Judah, for He is not here, the angel says. He is risen indeed.

It’s Sunday, and the crucified and resurrected Christ has defeated death, hell, sin and the grave. It’s Sunday. And now everything has changed. It’s the age of grace, God’s grace poured out on all who would look to that crucified lamb of Calvary. Grace freely given to all who would believe that Jesus Christ died on the cross of Calvary was buried and rose again. All because it’s Sunday.

At the end of the message the pastor shouts out

It’s Friiidaaaay!

And the whole congregation responds:

But Sunday’s Coming!

This exert was taken from Answers for the Faith
To download as an audio message, click here

Everything I thought I knew I no longer know

I heard something today that broke my heart
Shook me to my core
Turned my world upside down
Made me question everything I have ever known
Evoked feelings of anger, sadness, remorse, disgust, angst

I wanted to go into the bathroom stall and puke my guts up until I felt better
Until my insides were numb
Until I made this raw, scraping feeling in the pit of my stomach go away

I knew that kind of relief is temporary and soon fleeting
I also knew that
I didn’t want to feel the way that I felt

For those of us who have been through a season of escapism
and come out on the other side
We are fully aware that the only way to remain mentally, emotionally and spiritually sound is to sit in our feelings
No matter how difficult
No matter how long it takes
Acceptance is key

I find at times that remaining physically sober is much easier than
maintaining and nurturing spiritual, mental and emotional sobriety
These are the places where the atrocities begin
sometimes long before the action ever happens

If I do not face, sort and squash things where they originate
the outcome is always one of tragedy, personal or otherwise

Thankfully, I have an incredible network of individuals who know me
The real me
The person who is broken time and time again
Flawed and scarred

Those amazing souls
Living and passed
Some whose voice I hear audibly
Others I must feel with my heart and recall in my memory

A girl like me, has to surround herself with truth
Light that dispels the darkness
Wisdom of others who have gone before me

One of my favorite speakers is Jud WIlhite
I will frequently go to iTunes and listen to past talks of his
Today was no different
I needed to be quiet and listen

There was one thing he said in this session that struck me as deeply as the painful news I had heard just hours before, only it brought hope instead of harm
It was his response to a friend who had walked through a season of darkness and at the time engaged in a lot of self-injury
Now on the other side of it, she asked him how she would one day explain the scars to her daughter.

His response was this, “All you need to do is look her in the eye and say, these scars mean one thing these scars mean that your mommy survived by the grace of God and he’s done a work of healing in my life.”

So today, right now, in this moment
I choose recovery
I choose life
I choose truth
I choose hope
I choose love
I choose grace

How could I not?!
After all, that is what has been shown to me
Over and over and over and over again

“Observe how Christ loved us. His love was not cautious but extravagant. He didn’t love in order to get something from us but to give everything of himself to us. Love like that.” Ephesians 5:1-2

If you would like to hear the message that I listened to today from Jud Wilhite click here

Take a few minutes to watch this video. The determination of this precious child should inspire us all to be more, do more and give more.