The days of blessing

Each day that we getcloser to the reality of starting a church, I am reminded at the journey thatgot us here. I am consistently living in the space between poverty and blessingand I have to remind myself daily that life is how you live it, not what youmake of it. My daughter talked and talked and talked the last two days with me,as we were hiding in the boys room doing a Extreme Room Makeover and I sawsomething in her stories that I had to share.

“Mama, people think I am rich,” Carah said as we painted theroom purple. “They do? Why?” my inquisitive mind could not wait to hear heranswer. “I think it is because of the clothes I wear and the house I live in,but we are not rich!” I had to chuckle at the notion that my daughter wasirritated that people thought she was rich. “Well we actually are very rich,Carah,” I told her, “We are rich in blessings, that is why people assume youare rich.” She pondered that idea for a moment and said, “Yeah, and people atschool know I have a beach house and they think that we have lots of money. Butwe don’t!” This conversation was delighting me. I saw my precious daughterstruggle with the tension of blessing and financial lack. She perceived in herheart the fact that the blessings we lived with were so great that peoplepresumed financial wealth.

We painted a little longer in silence as I considered how toapproach her heart.  “When someone asksyou if you are rich, tell them yes! You are rich. You are rich in blessing,rich in love, and rich in spirit. You wear some of the most expensive clothesthere are and you live in a house that has a pool, a guest house, a shop and anoffice. Your bedroom is decked out with name brand, top of the line bedding andyou have traveled placed most people would never be able to go to. You are kindand confident and stand up for what you believe in and you are covered withgrace from Jesus that gives you a gentle spirit. You are very rich. Wealth isnot determined by how much money one has in their bank account, wealth isdetermined by the character of our being, the blessings of God.” Her browfurrowed. She did not like the idea that she was rich. I couldn’t understandwhy. I let her process it in her head for a while as we continued to paint.

She didn’t say much after that as we painted. I could seeshe was trying to evaluate what I had said. The community we live in is rich inagriculture and tradition. Most of the farmers who live here have been here forclose to 100 years. Families who migrated to this country farmed the land andthen handed the farm and land down to their kids and grandkids. Most are Danishand Portuguese. Their farms are over 100 acres. There are not a lot of houseshere. When a house comes up for sale, someone from the community usually buysit. The same is true of the migrant farmers who work the land. Most are fromMexico and many of the families who moved here came 2 and 3 generations ago.They worked on the farms, their kids worked on the farm and their grandkids arenow going to school with my kids. Their kids, who graduated and went tocollege, still live in the community but work in the nearby large city. There isalso the Asian population, who have migrated to this country recently andbought land to farm. They are smaller farms, 5 or so acres, they live communal,with 3 to 4 families all on 1 property working the farm. Then there are the fewlike us, who ended up in this community on a fluke. There are not many peoplewho live here without some historical tie to this community.

As a result, there is class and racial segregation. It issubtle but noticeable. Early on, in elementary school, kids identify who the “rich”kids are and there is a certain order that must be followed. When my kidsstarted at the elementary school in this community, the kids perceived my kidsas “rich.” Carah experienced expectations that were placed on her to act and bea certain way that was in tune with being one of the “rich” kids. This is wherethe distain for being rich started.

“You know what I don’t like about people thinking I am rich,”Carah finally said. “I don’t want people to think I am a mean girl. I don’tlike it when people are mean to other kids just because they are rich.” Hertone got somber and tears swelled up in her eyes. “I am not rich, we are onfood stamps and I get hand me down clothes and we can’t pay our rent and ourcars don’t work and we can’t even afford to take piano lessons. I mean mosteverything in our house was given to us and we don’t even have enough money to…”her voice trailed off. “Do you know what happened at school the other day?” shesaid sharply. “My class was dismissed earlier for lunch then Mr. Moe’s class,which never happens. But we had a sub, so we got to the lunch line first. Whichlike never happens. We got our food and sat down on some tables that we neversit at, because we were dismissed first. Jennifer (name changed) came into thelunch room and told my friend, ‘You’re sitting in my seat!’ I was so mad andsaid, ‘You don’t own that seat, Jennifer!” She rolled her eyes and looked at myfriend and said, ‘Ugh, I always sit there!’ She didn’t even look at me and Isaid, ‘Well not today!’ Can you believe that mama?” Carah was getting riled up.“Just because she is ‘rich’ (she added air quotes) she thinks she can dowhatever she wants and people just let her. She cuts in line and no one saysanything. Well except me, always say something. It is so dumb. I don’t want tobe like that. That’s why I get mad when people say that I am ‘rich’!” She waswaving her arms around and moving around the room with a fierce intensity. Ikept painting, trying hard not to let her see the smirk on my face. I wasdelighted. Not only at the conversation, but at the way my daughter handledthis situation.

My homeschooled daughter had experienced class and socialwarfare. She saw her peers being mistreated based on their economic status andstood up in the face of injustice. It’s not the first time she has done this.She has experienced racial tension when a group from the same ethnic backgroundexcludes someone who is not by speaking their native language and not includedthem in a game. She has not tolerated that either and has fought for the kidbeing left out. I see her little heart being shaped by this experience.

“The next time someone asks you if you are rich, Carah, say ‘Yes,I am very rich,’ because you are. You are the daughter of the King of Kings.You are a princess,” I told her. She gave me a disapproving look. “You are aprincess. Your Father is a King, that makes you princess. That is why peoplethink you are rich, because you are. You are so blessed. Look around you. Evenwith all the hand me downs we get and the money we receive from other people,it is the best. God gives us the best. Not because He has to, but because hewants to. He wants you and brothers and mama and daddy to know that He lovesus, that He has not forgotten us. Our situation is hard, not having a job isstressful, but God always takes care of us.”

Carah kept painting. I saw a light bulb go off in her mind. “Likethis paint,” I said. We were given 2 gallons of paint, never used. The colorsare the colors of your brother’s high school. What are the odds? It is not a coincidence,it is God.” We finished the room, 11 hours later and stood back and look atwhat weaccomplished. “It looks awesome! Like a model home,” Carah said. “Yeah, itdoes,” I chuckled, “It looks like something a rich person would have in their house!”

“Better the little that therighteous have than the wealth of many wicked” Psalm 37:16

To all who wander...

As I reflect on the day to day process of planting a "Youth Church" I find that I run into all kinds of confirmations of "adults" who themselves are pissed off and disillusioned by the Churchianty BS they encounter by "Religious Zealots  who seek to destroy anyone who resembles John the Baptist. 

 I realized that has been my struggle as a Christian all along... My lack of understanding of who I am. I have been the John the Baptist, the Strider (from Lord of the Rings), who wanders in the wilderness like some kind of freak, trying to find the way, the purpose the truth in the midst of all the shadowy figures who call themselves "clergy." I saw a quote the other day and looked up the context of the quote by J.R.R. Tolkien and was ascended into a place of vindication of sorts at my journey and my plight on this long road of wandering. 

"Not all who wander are lost."  

All that is gold does not glitter,

Not all those who wander are lost;

The old that is strong does not wither,

Deep roots are not reached by the frost.

From the ashes a fire shall be woken,

A light from the shadows shall spring;

Renewed shall be blade that was broken,

The crownless again shall be king.

(The poem appears twice in The Lord of the Rings' first volume, The Fellowship of the Ring. It appears first in Chapter Ten, "Strider," in Gandalf's letter to the hobbits in Bree, before they know that Strider (Aragorn) is the subject of the verse. It is repeated by Bilbo at the Council of Elrond. He whispers to Frodo that he wrote it many years before, when Aragorn first revealed who he was.)

It hit me like a ton of bricks... in my wandering I have been found. In my hiding, my roots have gone so deep that the cold shoulder of religious onlookers does not affect my growth. I have embraced the loud truth that I am a Wanderer, but I am for a purpose. I am not floundering or helpless or hopeless. I am being transfigured. In the ashes of what seemed to be nothing, God was stirring a fire inside that cannot be tamed; that cannot be shamed; that will not be easily snuffed out. In what seems like the end... is merely the beginning. I have been transformed. My eyes do not see what the religious church taught me to see. They see what Jesus sees; and it is not anywhere near the same. 

Today I was moved with anger and passion all at the same time when I heard stories of religion denying the basic rights of those who want to follow Jesus. Of shame and condemnation these people rule and my body convulses at the thought of it.

A friend of mine shared a "church" story with me today; her heart bare with the recent scar of condemnation, received by the abusive church leadership that resides in most churches today. What is worse is that her innocent, childlike, precious daughter took the brunt of the abuse of power in this corrupt place called "Children's Church." 

As she told me the story, I could feel the rage burn inside me. I wanted to make a whip and beat the crap out of this man who abused his authority with this sweet child who loves her Jesus. I wanted to lay hands on him and throw him out of the church with a fierceness that would scare the condemnation out of him. I wanted to flip the holier than thou table he sat at and make a ruckus! Instead, I listened intently at the hysterical childlike thing this sweet little girl did and burst out laughing at the imagery of it all.

While at church this little girl, at the prompting of her little brother, drew a mustache on a picture of the Pope, in a Catholic Bible. Oh my word... are you for real.... HIS..STER...ICAL!!!!! Hysterical! Now I am not an advocate of defacing a Bible or other people's property, but this is a child; and one who loves books and respects authority and does not have a history of destroying property. So, hello... funny. What was going through her head when she did that? Please little girl, tell me, cuz I want some of that!

The thought that a grown man would be so offended at a child pulling a "Saturday Night Live" move at church is beyond me. His offense became a sin against this little girl as he embarrassed and belittled her in front of her peers. He told her that she was acting like a baby and being disruptive and he could "NOT BELIEVE SHE DID SUCH A THING." Even after a sincere apology, this man decides that he is going to abuse his authority over this sweet child and shame her with condemnation. What is a child to do? Especially one who does respect authority and does not have a history of getting into trouble?

And if shaming her and her little brother was not enough, let's now go shame the mom for her lack of discipline and parenting skills to train this girl correctly. ARE YOU FOR REAL? Seriously? Whoa, whoa, whoa... lets back this train up a minute!

Let's break this down "Big Bird" style...

Jesus =Love

Love=covering sin

Covered sin= repentance

Repentance =change

Change=blamelessness

Blamelessness=holiness

Holiness=Jesus

Hmmm... I did not see condemnation in there, did you? Maybe a little guilt and shame? No didn't see that either... Oh now I get it.... No... really... I don't!!!!!!

If Jesus saw a little girl draw a mustache on the Pope, I will tell you this.... He would not bring shame and condemnation on her! If he did not shame a prostitute, adulterer or a drunk, why on earth would a "religious leader condemn a little girl for acting like a child. He told her she was acting like a baby. Which is so ridiculous! Last I checked the Bible said, " When I was a child, I talked like a child; I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I put the ways of childhood behind me." 1 Corinthians 13:11 

Obviously this "religious leader" did not put his childish ways behind him, because he acted like a child by calling a little girl a baby. That is as childish as you can get. And the leaders in the church are wondering why people are falling away and not coming to church anymore. 

I picture Jesus laughing at the little girl’s rendition of the Pope and saying something like, "He looks great with a mustache, and perhaps we should encourage him to grow one." It’s a (explicit word) book!!!! Is that pile of paper really more valuable than the heart of this child? WAKE UP CHURCH!  What freaking planet are you on?!?!?!? 

"Growing churches make up only about 20 percent of all U.S. churches today. The rest have reached a plateau or are declining"  http://www.christianpost.com/news/total-us-churches-no-longer-in-decline-researchers-say-45150/#sSOvH8AkMw6rGZSg.99 

The old way is passing away and the new is coming. This hierarchical mindset of churches is rooted in the Priesthood of the Old Testament that was replaced when Jesus died on the cross and veil that separated the Holy of Holies was torn from top to bottom as a sign to all that God was accessible to anyonel who would come to Him; not just those who wore the proper garments and held the proper titles.  Churches that continue to function under the Old Testament way will soon fade away. In fact recent research shows that on average that 3500 churches closed their doors every year. 

The good news is people are starting to wake up and are seeing that the Old Testament Priesthood churches have got to go, and they are. As the church ages and people die, churches close, because there are no new young people to sustain them. In the last 2 years, the sleeping giant is beginning to wake and see that it is time to plant. Close to 4000 churches were planted to replace the 3500 that closed, but that does not keep up with the population growth. So even though 500 more churches are opening than closing in America, it is still not enough to keep up with the number of people in this country. 

"In a spiritual sense, America has become the dark continent. When we come face to face with our present reality, it would seem that only the coldest heart could remain complacent about the need to reach Americans." http://enrichmentjournal.ag.org/200802/200802_096_ChurchPlanting.cfm

And it is no wonder, when the church leadership looks like the church leader mentioned earlier... A very consistent theme, I am afraid that has become an epidemic in this country. 

Mega churches are not the answer, either. They are a place, run like a business or worse, the government; who at best keep people in line, following the rules to be sure that there is a presence of religion in the community. There, people can hide and get lost. People scratch and claw their way to leadership positions, since there are not many, to fulfill a false sense of "calling". When in fact, true churches, evangelize, disciple, create leaders and send out to plant new churches; in unchurched areas. Here in America pastors build their own kingdoms on earth and have satellite campuses with video feed of themselves preaching. As if there is not enough leadership to go around. If there isn't, it is because the "Head Pastor" is spending too much time building his kingdom on earth and not enough time developing leaders and sending them out to plant more churches. Do pastors really believe that they are the only ones who know how to preach the gospel? I have heard that out of a pastors mouth, with my own ears, in my own community. People believe it. Believe that this false doctrine is true and so the lie perpetuates itself.

Lecrea, a Christian rapper puts it this way,

“Eric used to go to bible study as a kid
He got older and started doing what the hood did
A rival gang caught him slippin tried to take his life
But the gun jammed up so them beat him nice
He woke up in the hospital singing bible songs
Praise God he had a place to learn the bible from
But then he gets saved and wanna preach Christ they make him change his whole culture and way of life
He gotta get him a bachelors wear a suit and tie
Go to seminary
By then all of his boys will die
Jesus came to invade culture outta nazereth and used a couple fisherman who people saw as hazardous
The feet are beautiful if only they'd go
If ain't nobody in hood preaching how will they know?
Eric is better used taught trues in his context
Somebody please plant a church in his projects"

More false doctrine being preached… "You must go to seminary to preach the gospel, to plant a church, to lead people to Christ."

Even Paul, the great leader of the first century church, planted churches, discipled, created leaders and then abandoned them to the Holy Spirit. He trusted that the Spirit of God would impact the church and the leaders far better than even he could. 

I met a woman today at the little country grocery store by my house. Her daughter attends school with my daughter. They recently moved here to establish a better way of life for their family. She shared with me that she is a woman of faith and that her husband’s dad planted one of the churches in our little community. I listened intently as she shared her discontent for the American church. "I love Jesus," she said, "but I cannot stand the churches! They are so wrong in what they are doing. It doesn't look anything like Jesus." I asked her if she had a bad experience in church and she gave me the look of "duh...of course I did!"

She went on to tell me the classic story of church membership. Nowhere in the Bible, but everywhere in the American church. "The church I was attending denied me and my family the right to be baptized until we took a 6 week membership course.  I told the pastor, 'Are you serious?' I don't think Jesus would tell me I would have to be a member of His gang before He baptized me. If I want to profess my faith in Him publicly, I am sure He would do it right then and there.'" I chuckled at the thought of Jesus being in the room with this pastor and the look on His face when a family of 5 was denied the right to be baptized on the basis of church membership. Not faith in Jesus Christ, mind you, membership. 

I sighed, and told her that my husband and I would be more than happy to baptize her whole family in our pool ASAP. She laughed, and I could see in her face that she was trying to determine if I was serious. So I assured her I was. "I might take you up on that," she said.

I thought of Philip, who was moved by the Spirit to go out of Jerusalem to meet up with a man he never met. It was an Ethiopian eunuch, who was in charge of the Queen of Ethiopia’s treasury. He was reading the Scriptures and asked Peter about the prophecy in Isaiah. After Philip preached Jesus to him the Ethiopian says, “See, here is water. What hinders me from being baptized?” Then Philip said, “If you believe with all your heart, you may.” And he answered and said, “I believe that Jesus Christ is the Son of God.” So he commanded the chariot to stand still. And both Philip and eunuch went down into the water, and he baptized him.” Acts 8:36-38

  

I must have missed the part that said, “and then the Ethiopian took a 6 week class on how to be a member of the Jerusalem church.” Or maybe it is just that it is not in there. He believed, Phillip baptized him, PERIOD!

We talked a while longer, I shared that vision God gave us to do a Youth Church and Mentoring Program to reach a lost generation. She wanted in; she wanted to be a part of it. I saw her light up. I know nothing of her spiritual walk or of her maturity, but I do know that she loves Jesus and wanted to follow Him. That has more value to me than any degree or title or experience. Love and Passion for the one who set her free. 

 So we continue to wander. Both my husband and me. We are not lost, we are discovering that in the wandering we are running into people who ARE lost. Wanderers who have no place to call home, nowhere to be a family. We see them and they trust us, because, like them, we are wanderers too. Only, now we know the purpose in wandering and have come o to embrace it.

Perhaps, our church planting will reflect that. A place for the lost to be found. A place for the wanderers to rest. A place for the misfits and forgotten to be loved. A place for the young to grow.  A place for the marginalized to be heard. A place for churched to be prepared to be sent out.

And so... we wander some more....with expectancy.

Eyes to See

My blogs have generally been about the deep places of my heart. The journey of reconciliations between my wounds and my love for Jesus. In the quiet desperation of pain, I have processed through writing and shared it with you. 

It has brought me to a place of complete and total surrender. Realizing that in all my pain and quiet suffering, that in all my anger and frustration with the silence of God, with all my sorrow and financial lack, one thing is imprinted on my DNA: I will always serve God. I will always love my Jesus. I do not know any other way. 

The Lord has moved in my life in a way that is unexpected and raw. I have to be true to the title of this blog... Real... Authentic... Worship... every day living that is not covered or religious or masked. It has cost me. I have been rebuked, belittled and questioned in my choice to live so transparent, yet I believe that is what God has called me to do.

So this next chapter of my blog will be about this new road the Lord has directed us too... planting a church. It will be the same... raw, true, transparent. Sharing the ups and downs of the journey. He has given us to see in a way we have never seen before and we will act on what he has shown us....

Eyes to See

My eyes are open and I see. I see the pain around me, the poverty, the murder, the drugs and alcohol that surround these kids. They are raised in it and know no different. They smile and wave to me when I see them. Quiet desperation of trials comes out in their words as they speak to me. Seeing someone stabbed in front of them, uncle shot in front of them, mom high again, brother in a gang, dad in prison, poverty in their everyday life.

Even in my most desperate times in life, I cannot relate to such intense struggle. Yet they smile. Yet they come to school and practice. I love these kids. I love their parents, who are in the place they are because of their own trial, their own pain. One of the moms I encounter is always high. She has five children who have five different fathers. She tries to do for them all she can in her brokenness. I see her drive kids to games and practice and appts. Her drug addiction keeps the pain she suffers quiet for a time. She lives across the street from a drug house. Always people outside with their smokes, 40’s and drugs.

I drive by there all the time. I wave to the men who hold the drugs. I smile at them and honk at the mom as I make my way to the school in the neighborhood. I see the colors flashing of gang territory and I do not fear. This community has come to accept us. They wave at us, joke around when we stop to see the mom. My husband drove to this street, to drop a child off from a football game,, and the men surrounded the car to make their presence known. He opened the door, stepped out and the intensity of violence turned into casual conversation. Asking about the game and thanking him for taking care of one of their own.

There was a drive by shooting in that neighborhood recently and still we go, still we wave, still we do not fear. I see them, these people who have endured hardship and I want to tell their story. I want to show them Jesus; I want to give them hope. For now, I just smile and wave. I build their trust, their way. I talk their talk and I walk their walk. I want them to know I am not there to change them, but to invade their culture with the love of Jesus.

One of my son’s friends told me his mom had been in a coma for over a year. When I asked what happened, he said he was not sure. He was at his grandma’s house for a few days and when he went home to check in with his mom, she was on the floor, beat to a pulp. No one knew who did it or why it happened. They took her to the hospital where she has been for a year. “She just woke up,” he told me. I put my arm around him to assure him that life was going to be okay, but he already made that assessment. He has already learned to adapt. My heart ached for him, but this is what he knows.

God is opening doors we did not expect or imagine, but we are faithfully walking through them. He is giving us eyes to see and we are taking it all in. He is giving us ears to hear and we are listening. He is giving us words to say and we are saying them. In this unexpected journey of love, I am healing. I don’t see thugs or gang bangers; drug addicts and alcoholics; poverty or filth; I see people that Jesus loves. I see families that are holding on. I see miracles and restoration.

As I dropped my oldest off to school today, one of the girls I talk to all the time, sees me, gets a big smile on her face and waves frantically… I smile and wave back. She turns to look at me again as she walks onto the school ground and waves again. I wave back in a silly fashion; she chuckles and then lifts up her head. I could see the spring in her step. I knew she saw the Lord. I knew right then that her eyes beheld the love of her Savior through me and I felt honored that the Lord would use me.

My son smiled and said, “You know more people than me.” I replied, “It’s because I want them to know Jesus.” He smiled and said, “They will mama, they will.”

Waiting.....

I sit at home, staring t the wall, wondering how I got here. Depression weighs heavy on my being and I fight it with everything in me. I am an overcomer! I can overcome, I will overcome… yet, the weight of circumstances makes it hard to fight.

This journey I have been on is long. I have yet to reach the destination. It seems to never end and I am growing weary. With all 3 of my children in public school, my purpose of home school mom has ceased. Without a job, finances make it hard to go anywhere, as gas prices soar; so I sit here, writing, wondering and waiting. Haven’t I been here long enough? In the waiting zone? Waiting for a miracle, waiting for an opportunity? Waiting for a change.

My physical body takes the hits of uncertainty, worry, pain. I am a woman of faith, yet I am uncertain. I am a woman of hope, yet I worry. I am a woman of joy, yet it alludes me. I am a woman of love, yet anger rises. Peace is what I long for right now, more than anything. The quiet assurance of hope that permeates my being is what I try to grasp for. I sit in desperate solitude, waiting. Waiting for the Lord, waiting for a sign, waiting for change.

I have to tell myself to breath in and out with precision, I have to pray myself to sleep, so that the weight of fear and sorrow do not torment me. Yet, sleep is far from me. My eyes droop with weariness, my body aches from restlessness.

Who am I? Surely a woman of faith can stay focused on all that is good, all that is holy, and all that is pure. Surely a woman, who loves Jesus, can overcome such small feats. Surely a woman, who is fighter, can knock out the tormentor, who pursues her every night. And then the heartbreak of failure falls around me. The chaos of intensity overwhelms me. And I am tired.

I sleep during the day to make up for the night, and guilt and shame knock on my door. They tell me that I am worthless, that I am failing my kids, that I am a horrible wife. They tell me that I am lazy and irresponsible and have no purpose.

My ears hear them and my heart fights to keep the words from planting in my soul. My chest aches with the constant tug of war of planting and digging up, uprooting and filling with good soil. I spend so much time keeping the weeds out of my heart that is not much time to nurture that which is already planted. The words of life in my heart have been neglected, as I have taken to keeping invasive weeds from taking over. A vicious circle, that makes me tired and frustrated.

I depend on words of life from worship music or the Bible or a friend to sustain me; the life support that keeps me from falling. And so I breathe, I wake up in the morning and thank the Lord that I am alive another day. I thank Him for the mercy He has on my broken being. I am thankful He knows my desire is to see my kids and grandkids and live a long healthy life. I am thankful He is holding me in this time, as I struggle to live day by day.

So I breathe, I wait, I hope for it all to cease. Though the sorrow may last for a night, the joy comes in the morning. And that is what I can believe is true, that the morning will come after so much darkness.