Christmas is hitting me deeper

God.

Infinite being that created all of humanity. Perfect, omnipresent, omniscient, omnipotent.

Separate from us, those He loves.

When I think about being a follower of Christ, the resurrection of my Savior, Jesus, would seem to be to ultimate celebration of my faith, as it is when He conquered death. When His sacrifice gave us the opportunity to touch heaven, with a simple prayer.

But Christmas is hitting me in a place that is deeper than the sacrifice of Jesus on the cross.

I know the history, that the time of celebrating the birth of Christ is not in December and was partnered with pagan rituals to appease the Roman gods. I know that it has become a marketing event that has been replaced with Santa Clause and Winter Solstice.

But Christmas is hitting me deeper.

My heart was broken open this year. I saw my God in a way that I have never seen Him before.

God, like us, is spirit, soul, flesh. We were created in His image, and we are spirit, soul and flesh. God, had no understanding of what it was like to be human on earth, because He was only human in its perfected form, that way we were intended to be. He never walked in the sin that we lived in. His flesh never touched the wickedness we encounter daily. And even in His love for us, God never experience the temptation and assault of sin.

As I play Christmas songs that tell of the story of my Savior’s birth, while I decorate the tree with memories of our life, my heart is heavy and Christmas is hitting me deeper. Tears begin to well up and my heart and I want to celebrate the reality that my God loved me so much that He left holiness to sit in wickedness, to understand, to empathize with me, with you, with all of humanity.

Jesus, Immanuel, God with us. God with us! He came to be with us, to walk among us. But He didn’t come in glory, with angels hailing his arrival. He didn’t come with power and might to show His majesty. No, He came in the womb of a child, a young girl, who loved her God. He came by way of a young man who was to marry this young girl. People like you and me, afraid, uncertain, needing supernatural intervention to affirm the reality of the calling to carry God incarnate in her womb.

And so the angels came to confirm and affirm this miracle. And the earth knew He had come. As Mary and Joseph traveled to Bethlehem to complete the census requirement, a star responded to the majestic King being born in the little city.

My God, my Savior, humbled himself, and was delivered the way we all are, a young girl pushing the baby out of her, water breaking, contractions overwhelming, and blood surrounding Him, as He made His way into the world, He created. His flesh, grown in the woman He created. His heart nurtured by the man He created. And this little family was established on this Holy Night and the whole earth celebrated the reality that HOPE had come. That PEACE responded to the cries of His people.

Christmas is hitting me deep this year.

As I begin to grasp more fully that love my God has for me. His arrival on this broken earth hailed a new beginning to time. He was the new wine that would establish a fulfillment of prophecy since the beginning of time. His arrival, was more than just God with us. It was God know us. It was God show us. God heal us. It was God deliver us. It was God loves us!

The Christmas carols echo in the background and my body responds in dance, with goosebumps, with tears as I fully immerse myself in the reality of my God, whose love is so deep He not only sacrificed His life as a remission of my sin, but he sacrificed His throne to touch us with tangible hands of flesh. To speak to us with audible words of life. To bring a shining light to a dark and weary world. 

Christmas is hitting me deeper.

The lights on my tree and the stockings hung, the presents under my tree, fade away in the shadow of the love of my Jesus. The nativities around my house give me a glimpse of that night. The night when the world rejoiced. When lowly shepherd and majestic wise men were equal. When woman and man were equal. When government and religion were overruled. And a baby changed the atmosphere of our existence. The baby, being nursed by a woman, He created. Fully human, yet embodied God. And yet He came, in the most helpless form, depending on broken humans to love and care for him, as He loves and cares for us.

It’s hitting me deep.

My Jesus, Immanuel.

Come let us adore Him...

Andrew Chiappelli-a legacy of faith, love, truth and talent

Some people come into your life for just a short time, but leave an impression on your life that will leave a legacy for generations to come.

His name is Andrew Chiappelli.

My family met Andrew in 2007. He was a patron of our restaurant and we instantly connected with him. My children worked with us in the restaurant from time to time, and his love for children drew them into a blessed relationship of a man, who became family, a mentor, who always encouraged them in their faith and talents.

 My two boys were really rough and tumbling. Soccer, football, wrestling, trampoline, fort building type boys. Andrew was more of an artist, creative soul, who was full of mercy, peace and stillness. He gave my boys a gift of patiently waiting through the process for a creative masterpiece. They created everything from sculptures to paintings to planting things to decorating my house, including the boys, my daughter and me in the process. Yet, he would still go on the trampoline and jump with the kids, have water fights, build forts and tell these great adventure stories to them that delighted them.

Andrews’s relationship with my daughter was a sweet blessing. They had a special connection, as she is very artistic and creative. They would sing together and dance and do all kinds of fun projects together. He always encouraged her to pray and listen to God. He would do her hair and buy her cute outfits, even though, at the time, was struggling financially. His selfless love, still impacts my daughter today.

Andrew became a dear brother in Christ to my husband and I. Because he was single, he spent many nights at our house for dinner and board games, movies and walks and bike rides. He carved pumpkins with us, helped us decorate our Christmas tree, always helped me clean my house, as running a restaurant and home schooling three children always had me challenged in that department. He taught us about soaking in the LORD through worship and Andrew and our entire family would lie on the floor and “soak” in the words and songs and of God in stillness and peace.

When we were about to close our restaurant, he would work with us doing caterings and events to help us stay afloat and pay bills. Every time we gave him a paycheck, he would not cash it. When we closed the restaurant, he gave us an envelope with all the checks he didn’t cash, to help us pay others. He was there, praying with us and for us when we closed. Crying with us, helping us clean it out and sell the items to pay bills.

My husband became the general manager of Dai Bai Dang in Fresno, and we were able to start recovering from the hit of losing the restaurant. Andrew still spent time with us and ate dinner with us frequently. When that restaurant sold, my husband lost his job. We were about to lose everything we owned, but God gave us a ministry job in another city. We sold most of what we owned and then moved away in 2009.

We would call Andrew from time to time, but space and time got wider and wider. My husband got a General Manager job in Santa Barbara in 2010, so we moved even farther away from Fresno.

We moved to Easton in 2011, my mom was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer, so my life became consumed with taking care of her. My grandmother passed away and so did my mom, by the end of that year. In 2012 and 2013, we were trying to re-establish our lives, struggling to find jobs and dealing with grief. We talked about Andrew frequently, wondering where he was, and how he was doing. I put up curtains and matching pillows he gave me in my new home in Easton and always thought about him and prayed for him. My kids missed him too. When they would jump on the trampoline or when they would quote funny things he said or did. “I gots the tegrity” was one of the funny things he said, about having integrity. He said it with a country voice and had us rolling in laughter.

I often looked him up on facebook to see if he had one, so we could reconnect. I found him and friended him but quickly realized he was not a facebooker. My son graduated in 2014 and we became urban missionaries. More years passed and we did not see Andrew.

In April, 2016, my daughter and I were in Fresno doing a fun mama and me day. On the way home I noticed I needed gas, so stopped in Easton to get some, before heading home. My daughter stayed in the car and I went into the building to pay for my gas. As I was walking back to the car, I saw a man pumping gas that looked a lot like Andrew. I thought, Oh my goodness, is that Andrew? I am a very outgoing person, so I had no fear in going up to some random man and tapping him on the shoulder to see if it was Andrew or not. If it wasn’t, I knew I would meet someone new. I walked closer to him and said, “Andrew?” The man turned around and said, “Oh my gosh, Teresa, how are you?”

With that, he, my daughter and I stood in the parking lot for over an hour talking and reconnecting. We told him that we were urban missionaries and invited him to come to our Bible Study, just across the street from the gas station, where we were standing. We told him that the boys would be so excited to see him and that he had to come over for dinner. He shared with us that he was helping to care for a couple in Easton, and that he was getting his master gardeners certificate. We reminisced and laughed and he marveled at how tall Carah was. She is 5’8” and was taller than him. Then he shared this amazing story with my daughter and I about his recent trip to Israel. This, I believe is so beautiful for all who loved Andrew to hear, as it is exactly what he now gets to be in permanently.

Andrew painted a beautiful picture of what he saw:

“The last time I was in Israel, I had the most beautiful encounter. I was visited by an angel every morning in my hotel room at 5am. The angel literally woke me up and told me to expect amazing things. The angel would have conversations with me about my desires and told me what to look for when I was there in Jerusalem.

The day that changed my life was the day we went on a tour to the place of Jacob’s ladder. We got up early and went into an armored vehicle to the spot. We had to travel through an area that is prone to violence and so not very many people take this tour. We drove for hours and slipped through the violent areas, without any issues. We finally came to a place that was in the middle of nowhere. In the distance you could see some mountains and sheep in the valley.

 There was this small stone building that was off to the side. It was very old, but still standing. Then there was this stone foundation in the shape of a circle. We all laid down with our heads on the rocks that lined the foundation. In the distance you could see where Jacob saw the ladder from heaven to earth. The tour guide told us to close our eyes and ask God for a supernatural encounter. So we all did. I am not sure what everyone else there experienced, but here is what happened to me.

I was instantly caught up in the spirit and I saw the angel that had been visiting me every day. He motioned me to follow him to Jacob’s ladder. I saw many angels coming and going up and down the ladder. It looked more like a stair case and on one side there were angels coming down and on the other side. I stated walking towards the ladder and got to the base. Instantly I was at the top of the ladder.

I was in the throne room. It was huge. There were thousands of angels and beings that surrounded the room. It was glorious. In the distance you could see this bright light. It was covered by clouds, but was so brilliant it drew you in. As I was looking at this light, I was instantly transported to the space right below this light. I was standing on a bright, clear sapphire floor. Right in front of me was a clear river. You could see the brilliant blue sapphire on the bottom. On the other side of the river were thousands of people worshipping God, right in front of the throne of God.

 As I was looking at the throne, I was instantly transported to the base of the throne. The throne was huge. I could see God sitting on the throne. His feet were this beautiful golden bronze color, the size of cars. His hands were resting on the throne and had great strength and gentleness in them. His face was the light I had saw earlier, but was covered with clouds. The sound of voices worshipping God was majestic and calm. I took it all in and felt peace and love like I have never known before. I was looking up at his face, covered and clouds and wished I could see His face.

 Instantly I was transported on His lap. I was a child again, and He was holding me close, with my head on his chest. I could hear his heartbeat. I could feel His breath on my head. He pulled me in and I was home. I wanted to stay there forever. I breathed in let out a deep breath, I was full of joy.

Once I breathed out, I was instantly taken back to my body, lying there on the stone foundation. I opened my eyes and tears streamed down my face. I didn’t want to leave. I wanted to stay there in His presence. It was the most amazing experience of my life. I can’t wait to go there again.”

After he told Carah and I the story, we were mesmerized. We asked him to share his experience with our Bible Study group and he said he would. We exchanged numbers and became friends on facebook and began to plan times where we could be in each other’s lives again. It was beautiful and sweet and we were so delighted that God brought Andrew back into our lives again.

Then, I saw on facebook, that he had been killed in a crash. It seemed like a dream, like it was not real.The first thing I thought about was the vision he had just shared with us not too long before. I couldn’t help but smile. And even though my heart grieves that we only got to spend two years with Andrew and will not get to make more memories with him, that were long overdue, I am delighted to know that he is exactly where he wants to be.

I think of all the dreams Andrew had, that were never fulfilled on this earth; all the hopes he had for building a place for the lost and wayward, having capital to help people succeed, and so much more. I wonder if those dreams were really just shadows that were never meant to come to pass, but only to keep him moving forward on the path he was on for healing, growth, love, service, joy, a full life.

I am sure, if Andrew could attend his own funeral, he would talk about how he wasn’t able to see those dreams come to pass… but in reality, Andrew was a Dream Supporter. He supported so many people in their dreams. He sacrificed his own ambitions and dreams so many times to help other people’s dreams come to pass. In reality, he was a part of many dreams coming to pass.

My husband and sons were so sad to hear of his passing and that they did not get to see him. But his legacy and gift’s that he gave to my children and us are ever present and will now become a part of our own legacy.

We all have a different perspective of our Lord, because of the legacy he left with us. For that we will carry it on to everyone God puts into our lives, to bless, love, encourage and bestow a gift to. Until we see you again friend.

Confessions of a Nobody #4 – Walking in the Hornet’s Nest

 There they were, holding signs that had a picture of a young man on a poster board, with words that read “CAR WASH for FUNERAL EXPENSES.” I drove past them, on my way to the thrift store to get some things for my daughter. In the car with me, were two young people who came to live with us, after some months of homelessness and drug issues.

“I think that car wash is for him, Mama T,” the young man in the back seat of my car said quietly. He was sitting next to his girlfriend and his eyes were fixed on the people on the street.

“Do you want me to stop?” I asked

“No, you can keep going,” he said.

His curly hair was getting long and his eyes began to water. The loss of yet another friend was a lot. Since he had come to live with us, he discovered that one of his brothers got locked up and the other one was on house arrest. Both under the age of 18. His girlfriend held his hand and did not say a word.

We arrived at the thrift store and got out. The couple lingered outside to smoke and my daughter and I went in to find some things for her Sadie’s Hawkins dance. When we were done, he asked me if he could go back to the car wash to see if anyone could give him and his girlfriend a ride to the candlelight vigil. So I drove back to the corner where everyone was.

When we parked the car, the group assumed that I was another customer, there to support the funeral, with a car wash. My car needed one, but I was not there for that purpose. The young man and I got out of the car, and my daughter and his girlfriend stayed inside.

There were close to 50 people there; all helping, grieving, remembering. As I walked closer to the group, all eyes watched me. The smell of marijuana was thick and the tattoos on their bodies, indicated they were from the Bulldog gang. Against the wall, one man, close to my age, tensed up to see what I was doing there. He glared with a fierce intensity as I walked up to the young man’s cousin. She had a joint in her hand and put it behind her back, so that I would not see it. She looked at me, confused, and then at the young man. The young man hugged her and she responded with, “This sucks man.”

He introduced me and I gave her a hug. Her stiff body would indicate that she did not expect my embrace; but I continued to engulf her in my Mama T way, until she relaxed. He introduced me to all the people who came around him. One by one, I hugged them and shared my condolences. Joints were being passed around and sadness hung in the air. My heart was broken for them, for the loss of a life so young.

Someone tapped me on the shoulder and I turned around to see a young man that looked familiar.

“Remember me?” he asked.

“You look familiar,” I said, “but I can’t place where I know you from.”

“I met you at the Hall. You were talking to me and my mom and dad. Your husband was breaking it down to my dad, remember?” he inquired.

“Oh yes, I do remember.” I said with a hug. He too knew the young man who had just passed away. One by one young people started to come around me, curious as to who I was. I clearly did not belong there, hugging and talking to this community of people. Yet, there I was: talking, embracing and encouraging them in their loss. Many of them knew Will, one of our Bible Study boys who was killed just two weeks earlier, so their sorrow was heavy. As the smoke and conversations rose in the air, the man who was standing by the wall began to soften. No longer did he stare me down with a fierceness. His posture changed, he leaned back against the wall with his arms crossed and began to talk to the people around him, eyes off me. I was told that he was the father of the young man, who had just passed. So his intense, silent inquiry was understandable to me.

There I was, me, a 41 year old, urban missionary, standing in the middle of Bulldogs from McKenzie Street. Loving them, hugging them, and being accepted by them. I looked at their faces: broken, sad, lost and angry; and had compassion for them. I had just walked into a hornets nest and was not stung. They were swarming around me, checking to see if I was a threat, to see if I had fear, to discover what my motive was. The love that was exuding out of me, from Jesus, was so powerful, that it was like smoke to a bee hive. It calmed them, and took away the threat. I did not look like them, I did not belong, but they saw Jesus in me, and although they may not be able to articulate what was happening, they were experiencing the love of Jesus.

 So many times, we, as Christians look at a situation with judgement and condemnation and miss an opportunity to be the hands and feet of Jesus. So many times, we are stricken with fear and cannot even get out of the building called “church” to bring Jesus to the dark places. So many times, we believe the lie that people who want Jesus, will just show up to church, because, you know, it is church. We live in a post-Christian nation. People are not going to show up to a building to find hope. So many people don’t even know who Jesus is. A lot of people see Christianity as an elitist, judgmental, controlling organization that has no room for sinners or the broken or the lost.

The young man, who lives with my family, continued talking to his cousin and then asked me if I could take him to his Grammie’s house, which was a few blocks away from the candlelight vigil. He wanted to pick up the letter his brother had sent him from the Hall. I drove into Bulldog territory, filled with joy that I was shining a light in a dark place. I gave him a sympathy card for his friend’s mom. He looked at it with bewilderment, as this gesture was a middle class occurrence that he was unaccustomed to.

“If you don’t want to give her the card, you don’t have to. But it’s what we do when someone we know dies.” I said.

“Oh, okay,” he understood. “No, I like it, I think she will too.”

He got out of the car, with his girlfriend and walked up to the door of his Grammie’s house. My daughter and I drove away. She looked at me and smiled. She too felt the joy of just being the light. Not preaching, not condemning, not expecting… Just loving, just giving, just being the hands and feet of Jesus.

If only more people with the light inside of them, walked in the dark; to give hope, to show love, to be present. They are looked at as the scum of the earth, a gang, this gang. But they are human beings with souls and hearts, who need Jesus. Open your heart to those you look down on. Give your hand to those, who you think are beneath you. Share the love of Jesus to those who do not know him.

You will find that LOVE is the most powerful weapon on earth. The LOVE of Jesus, shown to a broken world, is the ONLY thing that will change people, change our city, our state, our nation, our world. No amount of programs, laws, events, organizations will do that. You may think you are a NOBODY, that has nothing to offer this broken world… but if you know Jesus, if you have experienced his love in your own life… you are a somebody- who has the most powerful weapon on earth- AGAPE LOVE.

GO… go and change the world… by showing God’s love… start with one person, today. You will be amazed at how powerful your act of love is. It starts with one, then another, then another.

Matthew 11:19

Seeing In Color

In a world torn by racial tension and dissension, I stop to embrace the reality of the why. I was recently reprimanded for engaging a culture that was not my own and called a racist. It created a deep wound that I barely escaped from. I sought the counsel of a dear friend, who identifies herself as "black",to try to understand why I would be accused of such a violent offense.

I was raised in a multicultural community, where color of skin had no bearing on anything. The only thing that mattered to this community was our love for one another. I was engulfed in a Utopian way of life that was almost fictional, and had no comprehension that such a thing as racism existed. I was a part of a community that became my family, and is still my family today. Many different cultural and ethnic backgrounds, religious and non-religious families coming together to create this beautiful mosaic of life that created a solid foundation of truth, many fail to stand on. I saw the world in color, in a time when people still saw the world in BLACK AND WHITE.

In my most vulnerable time of brokenness, I was assaulted even more. I was told that I was IGNORANT because I did not see the world in BLACK AND WHITE. That we live in a yang and yang world and to see the world any other way is why the racial tension continues. I was shocked by the response. I thought that my dear friend saw the world in color as well, but after an hour of conversation, I realized that I was minority in how I viewed the world.

The definition of racism has nothing to do with color. In fact, the Jews, have suffered from racism for thousands of years. It had to do with their culture, belief, way of life and heritage and nothing to do with color.

The definition of racism is this:

-the belief that all members of each race possess characteristics or abilities specific to that race, especially so as to distinguish it as inferior or superior to another race or races.

True, in the United States, racism has been deemed as a black and white issue. True, that many African American people have suffered oppression, death, false accusation, discrimination and hatred. True, racism is real.

I am not ignorant to the reality of BLACK AND WHITE racism. In fact, it is one of my life long mission to see healing and reconciliation in the area of so much hate. However, the way I fight racism is not by perpetuating segregation. Continuing to separate people based on the color of skin, continuing to put people in categories and identifying people as BLACK AND WHITE, is complete and total racism. There can be no healing in separation. The reality of healing starts by acknowledging that this world is not separated in BLACK AND WHITE. Rather this world is in color.

It is like telling someone, who has been watching television in high definition, Technicolor, flat screen, 3D blue ray… that they are IGNORANT for watching television that way and should watch television from the 1950, BLACK AND WHITE, tube televisions. It just doesn’t make any sense. Why would I, who sees the world in color, want to regress and see the world in BLACK AND WHITE?

The fundamental truth lies in LOVE. God created each and every person with unique characteristics, spiritually, emotionally and physically. Each characteristic was hand designed by our God, for the purpose of glorifying Him and telling others about Jesus. To separate people out in color is demeaning the truth of God. To say that the world is driven by BLACK AND WHITE, is bondage. God does not judge a man by the color of their skin, and neither should we…

Martin Luther King Jr. had a dream, a vision to see a world where people walked and lived together in harmony, from ethnic and cultural backgrounds, to religious backgrounds, to skin color differences. His vision was inspired by the Holy Spirit and preached to a nation in racial turmoil. Today, 53 years later, our nation is still fixated on color and not character.

Today, as we celebrate a man, who suffered the highest price of assassination, to usher a nation into an era, where WE SEE IN COLOR… let’s not dishonor him by being stuck in the 1950’s where we still see in black and white. Let us be a people who honors God by seeing people the way God see’s people- which is by looking at their heart. Our flesh, and the color of our flesh will fade away, when we die. What remains is our spirit, our soul- that which makes up our character and unique individual person.

I experienced racism, when I was told that I do not have a right to celebrate a culture different than my own. That I do not have the right to understand or learn or be a part of a culture… just because I am WHITE. It devastated me. I didn’t know why at first, but it was because I experienced racism. The funny thing is, I am half Mexican. I took a piece of white printer paper and put it next to my arm… I am not white. My skin is not white, it is more of a caramel color. I put a black piece of paper next to one of the youth in our Bible Study, who has very dark skin… still his skin is not black, it was more of a dark chocolate color with warm hues of red. Trying to categorize people in black and white is IGNORANT. People are not only more than the color of their skin…the diversity and variation of color in people’s skin is so vast, that black and white should only EVER be used as the bookends of the variety of color that is in the 7 billion people that are on this earth.

I do not believe that being COLOR BLIND is beneficial. It strips the beauty of what God created in each of us. Rather I believe that God intended us to delight in the cornucopia of his creation, celebrating the differences of food, music, fashion, architecture, art, language, and culture. SEEING IN COLOR means you really do celebrate DIVERSITY and live every day in the beauty of it.  Diversity helps us to embrace someone different to us, to delight in their culture and to share a common attribute that binds us together as human beings…. LOVE.  

Remembering the lost.....

We walked in when Janessa’s mom was telling her story. She was at the laundry mat with her nine year old daughter. All of a sudden she heard fire crackers and asked her mom why? Janessa’s mom thought they were too, but a friend said they were gun shots. Then Janessa told her mom her stomach hurt. Her mom looked and saw what looked like a cigarette burn. Her friend realized it was a gun shot. She was rushed to the hospital. Her mom recalled the last things her daughter said to her and shared how amazing her little girl was.   Many tears were shed, many people were holding each other. On stage congressmen, police officers, pastors and faith based organizations stood to support the family. An innocent life taken, in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Then this mother, who had just lost her daughter to senseless violence, said in a loud voice…”I forgive the ones who were involved in this shooting.”

Tears streamed down my face. My resolve grew even stronger. Why do these kids do these things? Why do they think shooting at each other is going to solve anything?

It took me back to 2011. My mother was dying of cancer, Elijah was playing football at an underprivileged high school and we were barely surviving. I read on Facebook that a young African American boy was shot in the head during a Russian roulette game, from Edison high school. It grieved my heart, but I was so disconnected from it, the reality of this life did not scathe me. The next day, while I was at a football practice I met a young man, who played football with my son. He was a very nice looking man, with enchanting eyes and a strong sense of pride. I engaged him, asking about his life and why he wasn’t practicing. He shared that his friend had just been shot and killed and didn’t feel like practicing. I determined, through our conversation, that it was the young man I had read about on Facebook.

Something happened to me that day. It connected me to the boy who was shot. I was just one person away from it. My kids were going to school with the kids who were affected by it. I changed me. It gave me resolve to make a difference, to be a positive voice in the mind of the youth, were so much negative is spoken over them. I vowed on the deceased young man’s Facebook page to make his life matter. To make a difference in his community.

Three years later, my husband and I are all in. Coaching, Bible Study, FCA, camp, prayer, making dinners, encouraging words... I had a conversation with the same young man from that football practice in 2011, Isaac, before he graduated about a shirt he was wearing. It that had three young men on it and R.I.P. across the top. I inquired about the young men on the shirt and he told me that one was his cousin, one was his older brother and one was the young man he told me about earlier that was shot from Russian roulette.

“Why?” I asked him. “Why do young men get involved in this kind of activity?” He began to tell me their stories. Each one of them. What happened, how they were shot, who was responsible and when it happened? I listened carefully, trying to find the key to stopping the violence. I asked him again, “Why does this happen so often in West Fresno?” I asked him. His answer shocked me, troubles me to this day. “Because we have nothing to do. People get bored, so they hang out and smoke and drink and get involved in gangs to have something to do.”

My heart skipped a beat. His answer was so matter of fact. He was so certain that if there were things to do, less people would get involved in gangs. He continued to tell me that there are skateboard parks in North Fresno, but not here. There are lights on at night for basketball in North Fresno, but not here. There are movie theaters and shopping centers to go to and do stuff in North Fresno, but not here. Then he continued to articulate his belief that with those kind of things in their community there would be positive things to do, jobs to work and poverty would be less. His intelligence and well thought out response told me he had thought about this many times.

I told him that I was going to do whatever it takes to make a difference. I shared my passion for the community and how God gave me a love for the youth in this community. He smiled and said, “Thanks that means a lot to me.”

Isaac encouraged Bill and I to do what we are doing now. Two years in the making RAW has become a full time ministry for us. Reaching youth, showing them how much they are loved and valued is our goal. In doing so, we found that much of what Isaac said is true. However, the source of violence stems in a mindset that has been passed down from generation to generation that affects the way family life happens.

Many of the youth we encounter come from broken homes. There is no sense of family life that is healthy and safe. In reality, the simple truth in how to stop gang violence lies in a simple action…. LOVE.

Love covers a multitude of sins

Love never fails

Love gives hope

Love produces value

Love gives purpose

Love multiplies

Love invades

God is LOVE

The practical aspects of engaging young people to steer away from gangs, violence and drugs can be found in the “things to do” as Isaac said; but the life changing events that make a difference lie in relationships, rooted in love and lived out in truth.

Janessa’s mom sat down and many faith based organizations shared how they are doing their part to help Stop the Violence. I didn’t even stop to think about the thugs who shot her. Why would I? There senseless violence took and innocent life.

The next morning I woke up to a foggy day schedule. We all got to sleep in and I was thankful for some added sleep. My phone beeped and I looked to see what the notification was telling me. Someone pinned one of my Pinterest pins; someone liked my Instagram photo; 5 new emails; Full lives on Candy Crush; Facebook notifications; Instant Messenger. I clicked on the Instant Messenger to see who sent me a message. I opened it. A mom from Washington Union wrote:

“Did you hear about Isaac Sears? I am just sad by it all.”

My heart stopped.

“No, what happened?” I responded.

“He was arrested for 9 year old Janessa shooting death. Him and another gang rival. I will share the link…. Praying for all,” she wrote back.

“What?!?!? Are you sure? I thought he went to college!” I typed frantically.

As I waited for her to post the link, I frantically looked it up. I saw the story on ABC news, clicked it and read. It said Isaac Stafford and Brian Cooks were involved. Sigh of relief left my lips.

“It said Isaac Stafford…not Sears… thank goodness!!!” I wrote her back.

“It’s him. Didn’t you see the pic? I don’t know why a different name” was her quick response.

Her next message was a picture of the two young men involved.

I started to cry. It can’t be him… There is no way this kid is involved in this. He had such resolve and focus to go to college and play basketball and stay out this kind of life, since 3 of the people he loved were lost to it.

It was him. The young man who encouraged me to do what I do today. All of a sudden my mind wandered to the Stop the Violence rally. I was so angry and disgusted at the thugs who did this and gave them no other thought. But this “thug” was not a thug at all. In fact that would be the last word I would use to describe him. He was in no means a perfect kid. But generally kept his head down to do what needed to be done to play basketball in high school and college.

Another layer of love opened up in my heart.

The first layer was the night I was taking a kid home from Bible Study. Noah and I were in the front seats and 3 of the boys from Real Talk were in the back. We were all laughing and joking around, Lecrea playing in the background. I was following the directions of one of the boys to get to his house. As I turned the corner, there was a drug deal going down. The guys at the window saw my 1999 red Cadillac and jumped. The driver opened his door and pulled a gun on us. I put the car in reverse and punched it harder than I have ever driven before. My heart was beating out of my chest, “Ummm, is there another way to your house?” I asked the boy calmly.

We took another way and I dropped him off. I found out that one of the biggest drug dealers in the West Side had the exact car that we had, so it was a case of mistaken identity. I was thanking Jesus for protecting us, when all of a sudden my heart grieved. Instead of going through the what ifs in my head, as I usually do, I thought about the boy who lived in this neighborhood. I was devastated that he has to live this out every day. My heart changed. Instead of thinking about me, I thought about him.

I literally wondered if I could actually reach such a hard and dark place. I questioned our little Bible Study and pondered if we were making a difference at all. The fear I usually have, melted away into a puddle of love for these families and kids, who live in a community that suffers greatly.

I looked at Isaac’s picture, read all the stories that were posted about the event and just cried and prayed. I did not know what else to do. The Lord reminded me of a book I read by Jackie Pullinger, Chasing the Dragon. She went into the worst city in Hong Kong and dealt with the vilest gangs. Yet, her little Bible Club began to grow and change an entire city. It moved the hardest gangs to their knees in faith of Jesus and hundreds and thousands were set free from a life of drugs, gangs and human trafficking. I realized that is was no different here. Our little Bible Club was making a difference. Our prayers were effecting change. Our persistence to LOVE was changing lives.

And so we continue to fight the good fight. Praying for those who are the shooters, as well as though who have been shot. All need hope, all need love, all need forgiveness. I am so thankful for Janessa’s parents. In their forgiveness to Brian and Isaac, they have shown more love than most. They have partnered with us in showing love to those who many write off. Their love and forgiveness may be the very thing that brings them to the saving grace and hope that Jesus has to offer.

Today as I process the grief and the pain of a life gone too soon and young men, who will bear the burden of it. Today, we press on with the vision God has put in our heart, believing God is going to bring revival and hope.

If you would like to more about the vision God has put in our hearts and would like to support what we are doing to show the LOVE of Jesus, please:

- like us on Facebook  https://www.facebook.com/pages/RAW-Real-Authentic-Worship/1532870260290204

- email us at beukersbill@gmail.com

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Tea Time with God

Sleepless nights are familiar to me. I have never been one who has had a consistent sleep schedule or pattern. When sleep evades me, I try to write. To process the reality of my lack of ZZZZZ’s. As a young child I was usually tormented. Dreams that had me strangled or dying. Waking up in a panic and screaming for help, only not words or sound could leave my throat. Helpless, I learned to fight at a young age. I learned to be vigilant in how and where I slept. If anything, that became my pattern. The ability to wake at the slightest sound.

After I married, I fought long and hard to overcome. I was on my way, until my first child was born. Checking on him several times throughout the night to ensure his safety. It heightened as our second son was born. I would walk the halls, pacing, trying to tire myself, all the while praying for protection for my children. Then, as my baby girl was placed in my arms, I started ten long years of insomnia. Sleeping no more than 4 hours at a time, my fear controlled me and I was a wreck. I gained weight, had panic attacks and suffered from deep depression.

I am a great actress and learned how to hide those unsightly things from those around me, but they soon began to torment me in the silent moments of the night. I had to break free and so, started a long journey to recovery. I had to determine the root, the cause and effect. I had to overcome the fear from the root and then I had to learn to trust the Lord. Trust. Trust my God. A whole new can opened, that took even more years to unpack. More depth of insight to understand. Lots of pain, lots of tears, lots of fear.

So here I am. Twenty years later. Up at 4am, unable to sleep. I am wiped, exhausted, yet I am covered with peace, a gift I never had before. So I welcome the open eyes to explore my Father’s heart. I lay in bed, praying, realizing that fear is not upon me. I pray, for my children, my husband, our finances, our direction. Tossing and turning hoping I will soon be weary from the thoughts and fall back to sleep.

I glance at the time and see 5:17am. Still awake, still tossing. I start to pray some more. I start praying for my oldest. The one who endures great adversity. I dialogue with the Lord about the journey. My heart starts racing in my chest, I start to breathe hard and before I can catch it, rage fills my being. I feel overwhelmed with anger and I want to scream. I start to tell the Lord I am angry, as if He doesn’t know. I share my heart and my frustration, tell him what I desire for my son.

He listens. I can actually hear Him listening. Peace surrounds me, but does not penetrate my heart of rage. “What is it that upsets you the most?” His voice echoes with serene perfection. I ponder. I wonder. I start to bubble up with tears. What is it? Is it the pain my son has had to endure? Is it the discrimination? The unfair treatment? Maybe the curses spoken over my son by unhealed, wounded people? Perhaps the fear that it will break him and I failed. Then it hits me. I sigh, “It’s not that I am angry because he has had to endure trials, I am angry because I do not have control to keep it from happening. No matter how hard I try, no matter what steps I take to protect him, I can’t control the situation.”

“Awww,” I hear the Lord say. “You are upset and filled with rage, because you don’t have control.” Of course I argued with Him that that was not the case. That I was more upset that my son was getting hurt and I couldn’t protect him from that. I usually don’t take what the Lord tells me without some sort of rebuttal. I cannot fathom the notion that His answers to my deepest and most painful issues usually are answered in short, one or two sentence answers. In fact, that make me mad too. Like this answer.

Essentially He is telling me that if I relinquish control, I won’t feel rage. I will not be as frustrated and I will be able to rest in His presence. That resting in Him will secure my peace and peace will help aid in sleeping through the night. I toss and turn some more, frustrated at the concept of control. THAT’S IT! I am getting out of bed! I can’t sleep anyway and now I am fired up.

I walk downstairs and put on the pot of water for tea. I stir inside. Brew with intensity. I hate not being in control. I hate it. I will use that powerful word too. I despise the concept. Yet, and that is a big YET… I know that the choice between God being in control and me being in control is not even a comparison. I know that God’s way, God’s journey for us, God’s purpose is perfect. He sees the beginning and the end, and I just have a little puzzle piece of my life.

The pot starts to hum. I walk over and pour the hot water into my cup. The bag of black tea and spices starts to permeate the clear water and steam rises from the cup. I let it steep. Waiting for all the flavors of the contents to transform the water in to a flavorful beverage. I sweeten with honey and add some mild to soften the bitterness of the essence. I wait for it to cool and begin to write. I can smell the sweet spices and can almost taste them before the liquid ever touches my mouth.

“That is you,” the Lord says to me. “You are the water. I created you, pure and undefiled. I made you flexible and transparent. Able to change with your environment. You can be so cold that you are hard, like ice. Your can be so hot, that your structure changes you and becomes steam. You can be lukewarm and put a bad taste in people’s mouth. I want you to be extremely hot and extremely cold.

 When you are extremely hot, you can receive from me and take on the flavors and aromas of my character, like your tea. When you do, I will add grace and mercy, like the honey to make life a little sweeter. Then I will add some love and joy to soften the flavors, so it will be more palatable for those who think I am too intense of a flavor.

 

 

 

When you are extremely cold, you bring hope to a dying world. You are refreshing and lifesaving. The water is you and the pieces of ice bring a fresh perspective to a cynical world. Cold water calms the overheating of rage and anger and bitterness. It brings life to those who feel like they are dying in the dessert. It holds hope for those who thought all was lost and they would just die, alone in the emptiness of their hearts.

Either way, it is I, who controls the outcome. Not you. I just want you to be. Just be transparent and able to reflect me. Be available to be cold and give refreshment and hope or hot and bring mercy, grace, love and joy.”

A yawn escapes me. I sip on the tea and look at the time. 6:51am. The sun is rising and shedding light on the earth; much like my Lord rises to the occasion and sheds light on my heart. I process, wonder how I can let go of the control I have. Tell the Lord I don’t know how.

I can almost see Him smile when He says, “All you have to do is trust me.”

I take the last sip of my tea, water stained with color. I exhale. The rage has left my heart and the beating of my heart slows down. The scripture I learned as a child enters my mind:

“Trust in the Lord, with ALL your heart, and lean not on your own understanding. In ALL your ways acknowledge him and He will direct your paths.” Proverbs 3:5 & 6

The shadow of Christmas

The shadow of Christmas hangs heavy in my home. The soft glow radiates beauty from the branches of the tree. Like a million stars in the heavens, the intensity of majestic glory shines from the tree. I see the tiny treasures hanging from the bows; each carrying a story of their past. It is a collection of my life, on this tree. Tiny footprints, turned ornament to capture a time gone by too fast. A snowman in a hot air balloon from my childhood tree, holds on to the legacy of a family broken early on. Intricately fashioned pieces from around the world, carefully brought to my home by my husband’s parents of places I may never go. The memorial ornament, carved in glass, of my mother’s birth and death. This year, 4 new ornaments became mine: A moose glass, a funny memory of my childhood of watching National Lampoons Christmas Vacation; a sparkling nativity scene, from Kemah, the place I was for my father’s memorial; a cowboy boot, that will become the memorial ornament for my father; and a carved nativity, simple and fascinating, adorning my tree with the true meaning of Christmas.

It glows in the darkness of my home. I feel its warmth in the very core of my soul. I breathe in the legacy of the tree. Many stories rise up about the tree on Christmas. Christians have scorned the presence of the tree as pagan. I cannot buy into such a fallacy, as the tree is but a creation of the living God and the ornaments a pop-up book of memories for my family. Christmas traditions and celebrations are but an adoration of the coming of the Savior; Emmanuel. In fact, advent is exactly that: the arrival of something important or awaited. Of course there are many pagan holidays and traditions that surround the Christmas season, but that is to be expected, since Satan himself has tried to destroy the very life of our Savior. The tradition is what is created in the heart of man, as a reflection of what is inside. If pride and selfishness is what motivates a tradition, then it can become pagan. However, if love and family and joy and remembrance of our Savior is at the heart of what motivates a tradition, it is hard pressed to call it pagan. So many traditions and celebrations were practiced by the Jews to remember something that the Lord did for them, so they would not forget. The Christmas tree, standing in my living room, is such a memorial. A reminder of times filled with love and family. A time when, even though brokenness ruled my childhood home, the tree brought us together with love and laughter, if only for a moment.

I am reminded of the time when we had no money to buy a tree. I had a 2 foot artificial tree in my collection of decorations and knew this would be all we would have. With three small children, my husband and I carefully crafted the story of our Savior around the humble little tree. Sharing the story of a king who was born in a barn, not a palace; and how we need to be thankful for what we have, no matter how little of a package it comes in. I had planned to have several home parties at my house to earn enough credits to get free things to give as gifts to my family. During one of those parties, a woman I had recently met, inquired of our tiny tree. I shared the story of Christmas and how we were thankful for even the humblest of trees. The next day, my doorbell rang. I opened the door to an intrusion of pine. In came the green beauty, propped up in the corner of my home, lingering a scent of Christmas wonder that was rooted in the heart of love. We decorated that tree with more delight than I we had ever experienced before. Lights adorned the branches, lighting up the bows of majestic splendor. Ornaments carefully placed, the topper given its place of honor on the highest point of the tree. It is only a tree, but it holds in its presence the exquisite grandeur of grace and love.

It is 3 days after Christmas, yet my heart is not ready to let it go. I am not ready to leave the celebration behind me. I want to rest in the legacy of this time of year. I want to relish in the sights and sounds the season has to offer. The house looks so full and stately with all the decorations around. The pine and lights and flowers and candles and nativities frame the walls of my house. Cards sent to me from family and friends are greeting cards of life that share a story of health and prosperity. I do not want to pack up my treasures hanging from the tree and take down the lights that gently glow in the night. I do not want to end the season that brings such joy to my depths. I look at the tree and wonder at its origin. The legends that surround its birth at Christmas are fascinating and intriguing:

 Legends of the Christmas Tree:

Many legends exist about the origin of the Christmas tree. One is the story of Saint Boniface, an English monk who organized the Christian Church in France and Germany. One day, as he traveled about, he came upon a group of pagans gathered around a great oak tree about to sacrifice a child to the god Thor. To stop the sacrifice and save the child's life Boniface felled the tree with one mighty blow of his fist. In its place grew a small fir tree. The saint told the pagan worshipers that the tiny fir was the Tree of Life and stood the eternal life of Christ.

Another legend holds that Martin Luther, a founder of the Protestant faith, was walking through the forest one Christmas Eve. As he walked he was awed by the beauty of millions of stars glimmering through the branches of the evergreen trees. So taken was he by this beautiful sight that he cut a small tree and took it home to his family. To recreate that same starlight beauty he saw in the wood, he placed candles on all its branches.

Yet another legend tells of a poor woodsman who long ago met a lost and hungry child on Christmas Eve. Though very poor himself, the woodsman gave the child food and shelter for the night. The woodsman woke the next morning to find a beautiful glittering tree outside his door. The hungry child was really the Christ Child in disguise. He created the tree to reward the good man for his charity.

 Each legend, capturing humility, love, beauty. A promise of what is to come.

 My tree stands majestically tall, touching the ceiling. It captures the memories of a time when we had nothing, when we had plenty. It tells the story of a family, building memories that shape the human spirit, and define a heart. With each passing year, my tree will be a symbol of hope and joy; a reminder of love and legacy. Something my children will pass on to their children. The light of day begins to break and the glow of my tree burns bright. It quietly sings a song and I hear it in my ear:

Oh Christmas tree, Oh Christmas tree!
Thy leaves are so unchanging
Oh Christmas tree, Oh Christmas tree,
Thy leaves are so unchanging

Not only green when summer's here,
But also when it's cold and drear.
Oh Christmas tree, Oh Christmas tree,
Thy leaves are so unchanging!

Oh Christmas tree, Oh Christmas tree,
Such pleasure do you bring me!
Oh Christmas tree, Oh Christmas tree,
Such pleasure do you bring me!

For every year the Christmas tree,
Brings to us all both joy and glee.
Oh Christmas tree, Oh Christmas tree,
Such pleasure do you bring me!

Oh Christmas tree, Oh Christmas tree,
You'll never be unchanging!
A symbol of goodwill and love
You'll ever be unchanging

Each shining light
Each silver bell
No one alive spreads cheer so well

Oh Christmas tree, Oh Christmas tree,
You'll ever be unchanging

 

 

 

The Privileged

I am privileged.

I have been given an opportunity that very few people will ever experience in their life. 

This privilege does not raise me above other people, but rather gives me the perception to see eye to eye.

I was privileged to grow up in a community where color and race existed as a masterpiece of community, painted with love and valued as family! We were all neighbors, who became family and allowed our different backgrounds to marinate together in a flavorful abundance of love and community.

This family was rich in diversity. We lived life together in unity and celebrated each other. From Christmas parties to 4th of July BBQ's, we did life in a way that was beautiful. 

I was privileged to eat many different kinds of foods, celebrate in different holidays in different ways and experience love from many people. 

 I was raised for a time by Dorothy Woods, who helped my mom when she had back surgery. We swam in Brian's pool. I still have the wooden cradle my Crailford Court grandpa made me, who lived across the street.  We planted trees, slid in cardboard boxes down hills, raced in our Radio flyers and took walks

Some of us moved away, but we had already become a family, so we had a yearly reunion to stay connected. We went to high school and college graduations; We celebrated Jess and Maria Musquez​​'s Daughter getting married (she was the first of us kids); we had baby showers and birthday parties and get togethers.  We cried together because of divorce; we hurt for Dorothy Woods who had a stroke too early in life and for Kevin, her son, who also had a stroke too early in life. We grieved as a family when our sister Jennifer Clark died way too young!

More recently, when my mom was dying, all of the Crailford Court moms came to say their goodbyes to their sister. 

We were privileged to see color, religion and race as beautiful and rich. We were privileged to just be a family, as we are today.... If more people focused and strived for the privilege I had as a child and as an adult today, this world would be a more beautiful place.

 That privilege was given by God. The privilege to see people for who they are and not where they came from, the color of their skin or the money they have, the religion they follow, the mistakes they made.  That is the privilege called love, true agape love that is undefiled  and pure. 

It was the closest thing to a Utopian society I have ever seen or experienced. Only the Utopian state was not in equality of jobs or money or things, but rather a state of mind. A mindset that gave me the most solid foundation of love for all humankind. I have that Utopian mindset etched into my DNA and I am thankful for the privilege that Crailford Court Community gave me to experience such a marvelous perception of life!

My Crailford Court family was an anomaly in a stitch in time where all the elements were perfect to breed such a marvelous expression of love that we all still share today.