One Small Word

Of late, my fingers have become less coordinated when it comes to typing, and so my desire to blog has waned considerably. As much as I love writing papers for college, lately I have to write about 300 words and then take a break for a few minutes before coming back to it. Maybe it's arthritis, maybe it's just my getting older. Regardless it has made me want to choose my typed words more carefully.

Today I want to talk about an important word. It is a word that much of our world has forgotten. It is a word that Christ talked about, a word He showed in his life, and a word He showed in his death. It was written in the wounds on His hands and feet, and woven into a crown on His head. He bore this word on His shoulders from the moment He was born.

Empathy.

Empathy is defined as being able to understand and share the feelings of those around you. I want to take it a step further, however. I once heard someone say that they were an "empath", and that is why they don't like being in crowds of people. They explained that when they see someone hurting, they hurt with them. They are physically and emotionally unable to shut the suffering person out, and they must try to comfort them. They see the hurt, and they share the hurt. They have compassion on those who suffer, and until the suffering is attended to, they suffer also.

Jesus was like this. In Matthew 14:14, Jesus, after having heard about John the Baptist's execution, went out on a boat to have time alone. When he came back ashore, a crowd had followed Him, and his reaction was instant:

"Jesus saw the huge crowd as he stepped from the boat, and he had compassion on them and healed their sick." ~ Matthew 14:14

I understand this, deeply. It is both a blessing and a curse to have uncontrollable empathy. Many people don't want to be sympathized with, while others misinterpret empathy as you "getting too close" to them, or your trying to take advantage of them in a time of weakness. Still others will try to take advantage of people who have empathy, and use them until they have nothing left to give. Empathy is not something that is not felt by the one who gives it. Empathy hurts when you give it. Jesus experienced this in Luke 8:46 when a woman in a crowd who needed healing knew that Jesus could give it, and so she touched the hem of his robe as he walked by:

"Jesus said, "Someone deliberately touched me, for I felt healing power go out from me." ~ Luke 8:46 

This is important to understand, because if Jesus did not experience a feeling of loss when someone else was healed by Him, then His love was useless. To empathize with someone, you lower yourself to their level of suffering, and you do not rise up again until the healing has begun. It means counting another person's hurt and suffering as greater than your own comfort, and immediately bearing the burden of that person's hurt.

As adults, we may find this difficult to do. We don't like to suffer. We don't like to talk to people who might need something from us. When we see someone hurting, we often look for someone else to fix it, or we pretend we didn't notice, and walk away.

The other day I was at an Upward soccer game at our church, and I was taking photos of the players like I do every year. It had been a hard week for me at work, and my heart was suffering. I needed empathy, but like most adults, I am afraid to seek it. I asked God to show me empathy, and like He always seems to do, he answered in a way I did not expect. On the sidelines of one of the games, a little girl had gotten hurt and was now feeling the physical and emotional loss of that. Her face was cast down, and she had tears welling up in her eyes. I have to admit, I immediately knew how she felt. Then I saw another thing happen. Another little girl came over and sat by her, and instead of trying to fix the problem with laughter and humor, her face began to mirror the pain of her friend. She spoke to her with gentleness and love, and until the little girl smiled again, she did not relent, or smile herself.

This was bearing her friend's hurt. She wasn't trying to shuck it off by making light of it, or pretending it didn't matter. She was embracing her friend's pain. She was clothed in empathy. Later on, (much later) I asked the little girl (her name is Ivy) "When your friend hurts, you feel her hurt, don't you? You don't just want to make her feel better, you literally feel the sad in her, and you can't turn it off until you make it better, can you?" Ivy shook her head. She understood. She got it. She embodied empathy in it's purest form.

What would our world be like if we began emulating Ivy? If the people we saw who were hurting didn't just become a thing to be pitied (or ignored), but someone to be borne up on our own shoulders? What if your friend who is suffering is the cross you must bear today?

Today is all about that very empathy.

Happy Easter. <3 

Between the Covers

This actually began as a Facebook post, where I was challenged (not to dump ice water on myself) but to name 10 books that have stayed with me over the years. Books that have affected my life or the way I look at things in such a way that having read them has changed me forever. These were hard to narrow down, but if I could only name 10, these are my choices...along with a brief reason by each one.

Before I begin, of course, I want to mention the bible. The most ignorant people I know are those who claim to follow it, but have never read it...and those who claim it to be nonsense, but have never read it.

On to this list!

1. The Great Divorce by C.S. Lewis - This allegory of a man's visit to Heaven, along with other people who have not realized they were living in Hell left an indelible mark on me. Especially the part where Lewis shows that all the gifts we have been given by God are unique, and we will retain them even when all things become perfect.

2. The Silver Chair by C.S. Lewis - Back to Lewis one more time. When I was a child, I read Narnia for the wonderment of it's heroic fantasy. When I read them again with fresh eyes as an adult, the scene where Puddleglum unashamedly declares his loyalty to Aslan (even in the face of having Aslan perhaps not rescue him) painted the idea of unconditional love and sacrifice on my heart in a way I have never had matched in any other book.

3. Watership Down by Richard Adams - Long before I raised rabbits, I found this book at the bottom of a pile my parents had purchased at a yard sale. In less than five pages, I was hooked. The tale of a warren of vagabond rabbits that escape human annihilation, sojourns forward in a perilous pilgrimage to find new life. It reveals not only the human side of animals, but the animal side of humans.

4. Les Miserables by Victor Hugo - After seeing the broadway version with my French class in high school (and holding onto my seat, practically shaking as Fantine sang "I Dreamed a Dream") I went to Oxford Book Store in Atlanta and bought the Signet Classic version shown in the photo above. This translation remains my favorite, and Hugo's magnum opus does Paris the justice only a lover and childhood denizen of it's streets could describe.

5. Speak by Laurie Halse Anderson - Recommended to my by a friend, I devoured this book in three hours. It brought back memories of how many people mistreated this girl I went to high school with, and how we might have unintentionally tormented a soul whose internal battles were beyond what we could comprehend. Be kind, for everyone you know is fighting a hard battle.

6. Homecoming by Cynthia Voigt - My "daughter from Savannah" shared this with me as being her favorite book. I won't even try to explain how Dicey wiggled her way into my heart, but there is one page in the book...one scene...where Dicey is sailing across the water on a boat after having traveled hundreds of miles on foot. Her description made me miss living on the coast so terribly, that I put the book down for a moment...and smelled the ocean---again.

7. The Five People You Meet In Heaven by Mitch Albom - A lot of people see this as "feel-good pablum". I don't give a rats butt. If you can make it through the last scenes and not be affected, go find yourself a puppy to kick. We all need redemption, and even those with no faith can relate to this story.

8. Bridge to Terabithia by Katherine Paterson - As a boy who grew up with a girl as his best friend, this book resonated with me the moment I picked it up. (In the Newnan Library when I was 9 years old.) It was storming the day I read it, and unlike many today (who have seen that atrocity of a Disney adaptation) I had no idea what was going to happen. When "it" did, I couldn't breathe for a few moments. Trauma at the hands of a paperback.

9. Le Petit Prince (The Little Prince) by Antoine Exupery - I read this book in French before I read it in English. While some things just don't translate perfectly, the story itself is timeless, and still as relevant an allegory of the world today as it was in 1943 when it was written. Get it. Read it. It will take you all of an hour, but the people in it will make you say "Wait! I know that guy!"

10. The Book Thief by Markus Zusak - I first read this book while flying over the Atlantic ocean on my way to Germany, where a connecting flight would carry me to my first overseas mission trip to Romania. In high school, history bored me so much that I had to repeat one of the classes. Now, it is my favorite subject. I won't attempt to describe this book. My words seem to taint it. All I will say is that I am haunted by it. Stepping off the plane in Munich after reading it was so surreal...and so beautiful. (The movie that has been made of it is ALMOST as good. But please, read the book first. Please.)

Now that I go back and look at my choices, I want to add more. But I won't. Ten is enough.

Now, go read.

Shoo.

Lessons in Stupidity, Part II

My high school librarian Dale Lyles read my first installment of "Stupidity" and asked if this would be an ongoing series. I never intended it to be, but I felt the need to tell this story as well. I would guess that less than 10 people know about this one, and up until recently, I would have been content to let it die that way. Lately though, I have found that there is merit in sharing your mistakes with others. Even the ones that make you nauseated to recall. Especially when those mistakes changed your life for the better.

It was 1996, and I was 22. (By the way, I was still married to Bryanna and Curt's mother at this time, and would not meet Emily for another three years.) Bryanna was already walking, and Curt was able to sit in the child seat in a shopping cart. My wife and I were proud parents, defying the prophetic words of our mothers and fathers who said "You'll be broke before you know it."

They were wrong, you see. We weren't broke. We had three dollars.

We were also on government assistance in three different areas, and my job was cutting my hours. This was not a proud time for us. That morning my wife had said "We're out of diapers." I knew I was not going to get paid for a couple more days, and I didn't want to ask anyone for help. I had too much pride. I'd already hocked everything I had, and the only thing left was our wedding rings. I didn't want to risk losing our rings to a pawn shop, so I made a decision. A decision that would change my life.

We'd steal the diapers from the store.

After making that decision, I remembered that my last venture with theft didn't go so well. I'd tried to steal a pair of sunglasses from a beach gift shop when I was 17. I got busted. My dad had to bail me out of jail. Now here I was again, staring down the barrel of the same gun. I rationalized that this was different. I was providing for my children. After all, it was only a pack of diapers.

We got to Kmart on Macon Road, kids in tow, our diaper bag in the shopping cart, and mentally prepared to do this. We nonchalantly wandered around the store, pretending to shop, then made our way back to the baby section. I took the cart, and my wife took Bryanna and Curt with her. I reached up for a jumbo pack of diapers, quickly ripped it open and emptied the diapers into our diaper bag. I wadded up the wrapper and pocketed it. I made my way back over to my wife, and told her the deed was done.

After some discussion, we decided that as long as we were risking this, why not get some baby formula too? We were almost out. My wife "kept lookout", and I did my best to avoid the areas with security cameras as I loaded the diaper bag full. By the time we were ready to exit the store, we were now the temporary owners of stolen diapers, several cans of powdered Enfamil AR, and a pack of baby wipes. My wife took the kids to the car by way of the main exit, and I made my way to the exit by the garden center...thinking it would be less "monitored".

As I was exiting the garden center, I noticed something odd.  I felt an almost "sixth sense", if you will, saying "This isn't right. Something is strange. Too quiet." I was right. The minute I passed the exit doors, a very large man stepped in front of me and said "Sir, could you step back in the store please?"

I was escorted to the back of the store by two men who told me not to try anything, like running away. When we arrived, I watched as they inventoried my items. One was a store employee with a pricing gun. After the total was figured up, the store security guy laughed. I will remember his words forever.

"Well, my friend. Today is your unlucky day. You see, anything less than $100 is a misdemeanor. Your total here is $101.01. That buys you a nice little felony. You're going to jail for at least two years."

I felt like I was going to throw up.

My wife appeared at the door, and she was in hysterics. My children were with her, crying too. I knew what I had to do. There was no way I was going to implicate her in any of this. This was my decision. I told the security guy my wife had nothing to do with this. He said "Wouldn't matter if she did. You were the one who took the items out of the store. It's all on you."

I was taken to jail, and for the second time in my life, I had to call my father for help. My bail had been set at $5000. My dad let me babble on for a minute, then said words I won't repeat here. He posted my bail, and I walked out of the jail with a court date two weeks away.

I was involved in a church at the time, and ultimately that is what saved my rum-pa-pum-pum. I went to my pastor and asked if he would be willing to testify for me in court. Not to defend my actions, but to perhaps show them I was worth more than a file number on a court docket. My pastor wrote a letter to the judge, saying that were I to go to jail, the children I was working with at the church would miss me deeply.

It worked. I was not convicted of a felony. I got a "get out of jail free" card instead.

In lieu of two years in jail, I was given community service. For one year, twice a week I worked at the Salvation Army. Instead of picking up litter along the roadside, I helped people who were so poor they didn't even have food. Instead of my own "problems" I saw real need every day. It changed the way I looked at my circumstances. On my last day of community service, I hugged the lady who supervised me...thanked her for the new perspective I'd been given.

When I met with my parole officer the final time, I shook his hand. He said with a slight smirk, "Get the hell out of here and don't come back."

Yes, sir.

Yesterday I spoke with that same pastor who wrote the letter for me. I thanked him again, and told him I owed him more than the freedom I had been granted 17 years ago. I have custody of both my children, and I would never have had that opportunity if I'd gone to jail. He said "Oh, you don't owe me anything!"

But I do. More than he can ever comprehend. If one day you happen to meet Rev. Marvin Minton, shake his hand. He's a very good man.

More-so than that, don't ever think your circumstances are so dire that you have to resort to stealing. There is always someone willing to help. Swallowing your pride is much better than sitting in a jail cell.

For those who had no idea about this happening to me, well...there ya go. I decided when I started this blog to be totally transparent about the things I wrote about. Maybe it will have a positive effect on someone down the road. As for me, I haven't so much as considered stealing a pack of gum since. Being a thief means you can't be trusted, and it changes the relationship you have with everyone around you.

I am currently in the early stages of preparing to teach a class of homeschoolers about the Jewish Holocaust. I had no idea when I took on this task how it would effect me. This is real loss. What I had that morning when we ran out of diapers? That was a daisy-path.

I truly, TRULY thank God for the blessings in my life.

My Helper

A couple of years ago, I was doing the manly duty of taking an old appliance to the recycle center. Our washing machine had given out, and we had replaced it. Now the old one was sitting on our back deck collecting pollen and dirt. It was time for it to go.

I was the only one at home at the time, and I knew I couldn't lift it alone (a dryer is one thing, a washer is another!) but that didn't stop me from trying to load it. I'm THE MAN after all.

I backed our car up to the porch, tilted the washer backward, and only then discovered I had not moved the car close enough. The solution was easy. Get back in the car and try again. Did I do that? Nope. I decided to let the washer slide to the ground, and to pick one side up and slide it into the back. This was all well and good until I got to the "sliding" part.

Picture this now. I have the top of the washer (the part with the controls...the lighter end) sitting on the tailgate. I am on the other end of the washer, lifting it up so it is level, and attempting to push it into the car. I'm having trouble gripping the slippery sides of the washer, but instead of putting it down and waiting for help, I opt for a new grip instead. I put my (un-gloved) fingers under the little metal frame that the feet sit on, and with my new grip, I can now have better control over this. At least, that is what I think anyway, until gravity takes over, and the "leveling" system of the washer kicks in. The little frame I was holding pushed itself up inside the frame of the washer, trapping my fingers. The more I try to pull them out, the tighter the springs held. I thought "Okay, not good. I'll just sit it down and wait for help."

Then it happens. As I lower it to the ground, the weight of the washer shifts downward, causing the springs to tighten further, locking my fingers firmly in place between their "jaws". These are not smooth edges I am dealing with now, they are unfinished steel braces. I feel the edges dig into my fingers, and as the weight increases, I realize that no matter what I do, (lift it or lower it) the result will be the same. They will only get tighter. I need someone to come help me, but nobody is home. The neighbors are gone, and my phone is in my pocket. I feel my fingers going numb, see blood trickle down my hands, know that bone has been reached at this point, and I settle in on one idea:

"Ok. I'm going to lose a couple of fingers. Maybe if I retrieve them, ice them, and can drive myself to the hospital, I can save them." It's amazing how calm you can be when you have nobody to help you panic. I stopped at that point to pray, and asked God for wisdom. At that moment, a miracle happened. One worn spring inside the leveling mechanism broke, allowing me to free my fingers. I was very, VERY lucky that day. I also learned an important lesson: Never do dangerous work alone. 

I need to fast forward here.

Earlier today, I woke up to find my wife lying next to me, crying. I won't go into all she was upset over, but one thing she said to me at the end of her sadness made the feelings she was having hit me like a ton of bricks. She said "And I'm going to be forty!"

Married men, I want to address you here. Your wife may never say anything about it, and she may seem like the type of person who doesn't stress over getting older, getting wrinkles, gray hair, or losing her younger figure. These thoughts do occur to her though. This feeling may be compounded if she sees you appear to steal a glance at a younger woman in the store, a shapely girl at the gym, or finds you looking at a web page with a woman on it. She's not flying off the deep end, she just needs to know how much you love her, and that she is the center of your world.

Everything is ok now. I reassured her that she is the most beautiful woman in the world to me, and I even made her say it to herself. She smiled and held me, and I held her back. I will never find another woman like her, and I wouldn't dare try.

Today, as I was thinking back on she and I talking about things, I remembered something important. Something I had taught to the teens in our homeschool group from "Song of Solomon". It described the way a woman NEEDS to feel in a relationship between her and a man. It doesn't matter if she is 16 and he is her first boyfriend, if she is 23 and her fiance, or 39 and they have been married for 14 years. She needs to not only feel this way, but KNOW in her heart it is true. See the photo below:

You see that second part? That is every bit as important as the first. It doesn't matter if you as a husband have been faithful from the beginning. It doesn't matter if you have never looked at another woman. It doesn't matter if you have "kept only unto her" like it said in your wedding vows. Yes, all of those things are important, and crucial to a relationship. However without the second part, they are all completely empty. 


So what does it mean that "His desire is for her."? Of course, when you were younger and had first met, desire was not a problem. You wanted her more than anything, and day and night you focused on making her yours...winning her heart! Women love to be pursued, and after marriage, the pursuit is over! She's yours, every day! Why bother continuing to pursue her? 

I will tell you why; because she needs it. She deserves it. If you are not willing to fight for her love on  daily basis, she will begin to wonder if you want it as much as you did when she said the vows that bonded her to you forever. Is she worth it?

You know the answer to that.

Let's talk now about something huge for her. Something that turns her on like nothing in the world. Something that makes her yearn for you as the man, and a seed of the most pure feminine fragments that God wove into your "Eve". 



One word: Trust.

Sounds simple, doesn't it? Of course she can trust you. Haven't you told her that over and over?

I had to examine my life recently, and several things occurred to me. It had to do with a question that was in my devotional book from Ravi Zacharias. He asked if Jesus was allowed into certain areas of your life ONLY, or if you gave Him full access. If you cannot give Jesus full access, you are not committed to Him, and worse, you are CHEATING on Him.

I began to apply the examples that were given in the devotional about Jesus to my wife. This is what I found to be true:

If you are unwilling to show or uncomfortable with your wife knowing where you have surfed on the internet, TRUST is at stake.

If you would be antsy or uneasy about your wife having full access to your cell phone's contact list, message history, browser history, application data, or photo albums, TRUST is at stake.

If you would prefer your wife not go with you to places you might run into single women, TRUST is at stake.

If you have hidden books, files, emails, records, letters, or anything that you feel might make your wife jealous, get rid of them. TRUST is at stake.

If there is any activity, any place you go, any part of your heart that you feel you must keep hidden from your wife, get rid of it. TRUST is at stake. 

Every day, open your heart to her FULLY. Tell her you love her, and MEAN IT. If you haven't kissed her like you were lovers in a long time, DO IT. Remember that outside of your own salvation in Christ, your wife is your greatest gift on earth.

Treasure her.

Romance her.

Hold her.

Belong to her.

If you do these things, a lot of the complaints husbands have about "She isn't the wife I married." would vanish.

Is Emily the wife I married?

Nope.

She is BETTER.

And like the author of "Song of Solomon" said of a true husband: "If anyone offered the world in exchange for the love of a man's wife, he would be furious, and utterly denied."

My wife. My heart. 

My Helper. 

 

Leadership

Went back over some of the notes I took at Emmaus walk last year. I'm finding that in the past year, I have experienced a dramatic shift in the way I view the world, and in many of the values I held just 18 months ago. I'm noticing that these tenets I wrote down take on a new meaning now, and a broader one as well. The speaker who gave this list said it is important to understand that some of these are biblical qualities, and as such may not apply to all good leaders. A man does not have to be a Christian to be a good leader, but if he claims to be a Christian, those biblical tenets should be present and evident in their leadership. Below is a verbatim transcript of my notes from that session on day 2 of my walk.

Ten qualities/characteristics of a leader, biblical qualities notated:

1. A good leader holds themselves accountable for their actions first, and their followers for theirs second. Accountability means acknowledging one's previous failures, admitting they were wrong, and moving forward in humility.

2. A good leader does not look down on those who do not walk, talk, worship, or look like they do. A good leader respects individual beliefs, genders, races, and lives.

3. (bib.) A good leader seeks to honor Christ with their leadership, gives all glory to God, and accepts none for themselves. They realize they could not have attained their position without God, and in so doing puts themselves in the low-light, and God in the forefront.

4. (bib.) A good leader does not use the Word of God to advance themselves, or to "climb the corporate ladder". They do not claim to know The Word when they do not honor it with their lives.

5. A good leader sees the road before them, acknowledges the task they are led to achieve, and does not cast blame on those around them, or those who came before them. They do not deflect their own culpability by way of saying "The person in charge before me is at fault for where we are." or "Everybody (cheats/lies/steals/etc.) to an extent." A good leader remembers they are the one answerable now, not anyone before them.

6. A good leader builds those around them up, and prepares them to take leadership in their own areas. They see the individual gifts each person has, and celebrates them by way of using those talents for the betterment of not just the individual, but the whole.

7. A good leader puts people ahead of policies, and will carry a broken team member on their shoulders until they can walk again. A good leader knows that a horse with a broken leg might need a bullet, but a person with a broken spirit needs a hand of friendship.

8. A good leader does not squander the resources of the group they lead on things that do not benefit the group as a whole. He does not take his salary and have a dinner party where his followers serve the leaders, but hosts a dinner party for his followers where the leaders serve instead.

9. A good leader does not use disparaging terms to describe those they oppose in an attempt to antagonize or provoke. They see everyone as a person who is entitled to respect, and carries the flag of peace when others wave flags of war.

10. A good leader forgives those who have wronged them, and asks forgiveness from those they have wronged before accepting the position of leadership. They realize that their leadership is to be a servant to those who follow them, never the other way around.

 

Enjoy the Ride

Below is a quote from Ronnie Beacham, one of the greatest men I have ever met. He was the AWANA commander at one of the churches I attended. Years later when I became an AWANA leader, I understood why he said this, and I, too completely agree with him.

I have often seen adults talking to one another, and a child walks up and tries to get their attention. The adult(s) response is usually one of three things:

1. Ignore the child.

2. Pretend to care, or pretend to listen. "That's nice dear."

3. Sternly tell them not to interrupt adults.

While the first two are nothing but patronization, that last action (while acceptable) applies in BOTH situations, I think. If I am talking to a child, I am usually down on one knee. I want to focus on THEM. Many adults don't get this. I wish they would.

If you haven't done so in a long time, walk up to a child (One that knows you...that part is important.) and ask them to tell you about their day. (If you've never done this before, they may think it's a trick.) They'll start slowly at first. Once they get going though, do your best to keep up. Remember, your brain is not as developed as theirs. You'll know you are getting better at communicating with them when you start seeing your own hand being pulled along like in the first photo.

It's worth it, though. :)

Now, enjoy this photo of a bicycle...for no particular reason at all.

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You're still here? Ok, well go back and read some of my older stuff if you haven't.

Like the one about my teeth: Open up and say "Aahhh"...

Or the one about my Goddaughter: I Danced With Cinderella

Maybe my amazing encounter with Catholicism: The Mysteries

Go now.

Shoo. <><

Clearing the Stage

I had someone tell me the other day that my blog posts are too emotional. Too honest. Too revealing of my heart. I'm so glad they told me. It means I am finally doing something right.

With that being said...

The other day, I took a car ride with a dear friend from our church, and had a chance to talk with them about the changes God has made in our lives over the past two weeks. They were major changes, make no mistake, and one of the biggest ones required us to change our place of worship.

I assured her, as I have assured many that this change had nothing to do with anyone at our church home, or anything about it's walls, floors, or beliefs. I think many who read this will think I am saying that to hide the truth, but I can assure you that if anything was hidden, it was our hearts when God was speaking to us for the past three years.

It took the form of Him whispering gently "I want you to make a change, and seek a new house of worship." Our reaction was always "Of course you don't mean that, God. We love where we are. Thank you for your input, but no thanks."

This He repeated to us, and we answered in kind, year after year. Each time, he would press a little harder, and we would press backward with firmer resolve.

I have to admit, the most difficult stumbling block for me in following his command was how much I love the children at our church. I have been active in our Awana program at LBC for almost 10 years, and seen children grow from Cubbies to T&T. Oh, the children...how I love them so much and will miss seeing them every Sunday. Of course, I will still see them from time to time, but not every Sunday like it was. That was the heartbreaking thought for me, personally. Although not an exclusive list, I can begin naming the faces that come to my mind as the pain of leaving hits home again and again...(Tiffany, Hunter, Abby, Zachary, Lexie, Maddie, Lily, Summer, Chaz, Harmoney, Layla, Randy, Ally...and on and on and on...I haven't forgotten names, it would just take forever to tell you about them all.)

That ultimately is what kept me from obeying God. I knew that if I had to look into their faces and tell them goodbye, I'd never be able to do it.

My friend (in the car ride) told me that by not telling them goodbye, I was slighting them, and not giving them closure. That was so hard to hear. As she said that, the faces of the children flashed before my eyes again, and I felt so guilty for leaving that I wanted to hide in a hole.

I love my Awana kids so much.

So very, VERY much.

I keep going back and looking at that one little photo I posted above. My heart almost goes to pieces each time I look at it, and all I want to do is give in and go back to what I know. I taught Awana for 15 years. Fifteen years!

My uniform hangs in the closet, and I  swore that if I had to give up every area of service but one, that I would wear that shirt until the buttons fell off. Now, in many ways, it feels like the buttons are just fine, but me that is falling apart.That pin up there? That means nothing. Zip. Nada. The children are everything.

God is in the balance. Habakkuk, Lord. Make me like Habakkuk.

I wonder, if there is some kind of "balance" here. I have prayed on this for days, and each time, God has assured me "What I have said, I have said." So there is no going back. As one man in our church said "Don't be like Jonah."

No sir, I will not.

But I prayed about where the balance lies, and what God told me to do is to write it down. If you are someone in our church who has wondered why we have gone, or a child in the Awana program who wondered "Why did Mr. Daniel leave?" Then this blog post is for you. Moms and Dads, feel free to show it to the kids that I worked with for years and years. If you are someone who served with me at church, this is for you also.

We left, not because of anything anyone said, did, or was going to do. We left because God has been asking us to for a long time, and he said it would begin to make sense the minute we obeyed.

I have to admit, the first Sunday we spent away from our church was so difficult. Everything felt confused and wrong at first. The new sanctuary, the new people, the new music, the new pastor...it was very, very hard to explain how alien it felt at first. At our home church, we knew everybody. At this church, I knew a few faces, and less than a handful of names...Emily even less.

But one thing began immediately, and this is why I want to make sure this blog post is written. In the past few years at our home church, Emily and I had forgotten how to do something. We hadn't forgotten how to teach, how to attend church, how to do what we needed to do, and how to be active in many different areas of service. But we had forgotten how to do one very important thing.

We forgot how to WORSHIP.

Again, this had nothing to do with the church itself. It had to do with a place we had fixed our feet upon in spite of God's leading us in another direction. We were so fixed on  "Our commitment to God." that we forgot how to honor His commitment to us.

We were so caught up on all the things that must be done, and all the responsibilities that must be upheld, and all the duties that must be attended to, that we let go of Him. At least, I did.

I loved my church more than I loved my Lord.

"Anything I put before my God is an idol...
Anything I want with all my heart is an idol...
Anything I can't stop thinking of is an idol...
Anything that I give all my love is an idol..."

The words from the song below hit me so hard, and the first verse alone was enough to make me so convicted of my sin that I just sat staring into nothing.

"Clear the stage and set the sound and lights ablaze
if that's the measure you must take to crush the idols.
Jerk the pews and all the decorations too
Until the congregations few then have revival."

I am just now noticing that the very gift I used so much at church, my photography, is not showing itself in this blog post. To be honest though, the very idea of posting pictures of all the things we had done at our church over the years seems almost self-serving, so I will hold back on those for the purpose of this entry. If you were with us, you remember. If you weren't, the photos wouldn't matter anyway. Sometimes, a camera isn't needed...photos aren't needed. Only the memory matters.

I have so many beautiful memories.

And if God wills it, maybe one day there will be more.

On the flip side of this, however, I want to add one little happy note. On the first day we visited the new church we are considering, in the face of the pain, the confusion, the uncertainty, and the tears that would come from each of us as we sat in these new chairs and listened to different music from a different set of people and a new message from a new pastor...

There was this one child.

She recognized me from the soccer game the day before, and as if God placed her there for that one purpose, she smiled at me.

"I remember you."

Thank you, Ava.

And thank you, God...for remembering me.

Please pray for us. We need it more than you can imagine.

And to my Awana kids, please know that I love you so much. You were the biggest reason I stayed for as long as I did. I just couldn't bear to let you go. <><

My Journey Alone (PART TWO)

(If you haven't already, go back and read part one of this entry. It's the only way to see both the good and the bad, and the lesson that God taught me through them.)

When God gives you an opportunity to go and serve, inevitably there will be criticism. God told Jonah right out of the blue to go on a journey to another land. He didn't give Jonah a ton of instructions, he only said "Go and do this." I'm sure Jonah (in addition to his own misgivings) would have had people say to him "Why would you just pack up and go? Shouldn't you pray about this first? Oh, you did pray about it? Well, obviously you didn't pray correctly, because I don't approve of this trip of yours."

Jonah did NOT do what God asked, and he ended up jumping overboard into the ocean and getting swallowed by a fish. Like Jonah, I had my marching orders. My family was aware of them, and so were the people on the other end. So there was only one thing to do.

Go.

Now, Romania is hardly Nineveh, and I am hardly Jonah, but if there is one person in the bible I can be compared to, it IS Jonah. Mainly, because I am all about doing God's will if others are supporting me 100 percent. If there are obstacles or criticism, either positive or negative, I tend to shy away from whatever it is He told me to do. That's a pretty dangerous way to live, and like a man at my church once told me "Daniel, if this is what God wants, don't be like Jonah."

No, I will not.

In the previous entry, you can read about the obstacles and lessons in reality God had for me along the way. This time I am going to focus on the reward.

In most mission reports, you never hear about the struggle. When you do, it is almost always a humble, heroic struggle: "We passed through miles of snake-infested swamps, eating nothing but rice cakes and bottled water, in order to reach the tiny village where God would use us for His glory!"

In my case, the struggle almost seemed to be God saying "So, you want this, do you? Well, how about a dose of reality before you decide for certain?" His lesson was thorough and complete, and it only took me 16 days to learn it. But, interspersed in those 16 days, God did give me opportunities for service. Not nearly as many as I would have had if I had gone with the team, but sometimes it isn't about quantity, it's about God putting you exactly where you needed to be, when you needed to be there.

I saw God speak to me through the back of a chair, assuring me that while I (and many others) had reservations about whether or not He was with me on my journey, that He was very much alive and watching.

I saw the hydrothermal heating coils being laid on the floor of the camp, ensuring that the floors would never be cold when hundreds of little bare feet walked on them.

I spoke with, and worked alongside camp workers, and saw what it is like day-to-day working on the camp, rather than a day where we have all our supplies laid out for us, including a picnic lunch. It's different, but God-focused still. I'll tell you more about that one day, if you ask.

I had the wonderful opportunity to have dinner with many of the church families, and not only have the joy of fellowship, but the privilege of speaking with them in THEIR language, and learning more about life in Romania than I would ever had if I had come as a tourist.

I cooked hamburgers for one of the families, and saw the thrill in the eyes of the children who had never experienced "real American food". By the way, the entire family devoured the hamburgers and fries like there was no tomorrow, and I was able to leave them with the recipe for Guthrie's sauce...which they are now addicted to!

I visited a Gypsy church, where I had the honor of delivering God's word. Even more exciting than that, was being able to get down on one knee and talk with these children. In the past year at home, the seemingly endless study of basic Romanian almost felt like a fruitless effort, but when I was able to carry on a light conversation with these children, it was worth it 1000 times over! <3

And oh, the music! While I don't think anything can compare to the choir at Golgotha, the complete worship and passion in the eyes of the gypsy congregation, coupled with the booming voices and pumping accordions was so...so...

I have no words left. <><

In the tiny little town of Monariu, I was given the joy of teaching a small group of children. While their numbers were small, the light in their eyes and the love in their hearts had me almost in tears. I got to tell them about me eating rotten apples when I was a teenager, and how when we are at our lowest point, someone is waiting with a warm bed and delicious food to celebrate our coming home.

And from Bethany's girls scout troop here in the USA, I was able to share cookies with those same children, and see their smiles as they had their first taste of Thin Mints. :D

I was given the opportunity TWICE to teach the youth group at Golgotha. I prayed so hard over what I was going to teach each time, and when the lessons were finished, I wondered if I had even taught them one blessed thing. When I was having dinner with one of the youth's families, I told her that I didn't think I was teaching them anything, and she said "What are you talking about?! Of course you teach us!"

Oh Lord, all this and Heaven too?

Octavian. Beautiful, wonderful, awesome, smart, energetic, amazing little Octavian. He shared his Oreos with me. He talked to me endlessly in Romanian, and God gave me the unexplainable gift of being to understand almost half of what he was saying to me. I helped him practice his English, and he sang the Romanian National Anthem to me. Every night, he would kiss me on the cheek and ask me "How many more days will you be here?" He smiled until the answer was "Zero." I will never, ever forget him. Oh, my heart.

Titi and Ofelia. When I was sick, they made me eat. When I didn't want to drink that nasty tea they were giving me "For my stomach." they encouraged me to please, drink. They welcomed me into their home and into their family...and all it's insanity included. I could share endless stories about my time with them, but some things are better kept locked away in our hearts. All I can say is that I have never met a kinder, more wonderful family. God blessed me with their love.

On one of the last days of my trip, I was able to meet up with the family of the little girl who first won my heart for Romania. I chased them around the park with my camera, capturing one smile and one giggle after another. If I never am able to set foot in Romania again, the joy and blessing of knowing this family (Victor, Daniela, Bella, Beta and Vero) is worth all the joy and sadness I have ever experienced. I would do all of it over in a heartbeat, if only to be able to share in their lives one more time.

Not only is this one of the greatest young men you will ever meet on this planet (Adi was my voice for a great deal of this trip.) but he is also a man of multiple talents. Yes, I finally got to do something I have wanted to do since I visited Romania for the first time.

I got to sing in the choir.

Yes, it was only choir PRACTICE, but being able to join voices with these beautiful people in THEIR LANGUAGE was a gift without measure. I had to keep forcing back the tears, and Vasile Gherman (another man who housed me so graciously while I was there) had to tell me "quit taking pictures of the choir or I will take your phone away!" :D

This little girl shared her "Zippy" with me when I was at the park. I had never met her before, and I still don't know her name. What was so odd, was a little child came up to me, a complete stranger, and offered me some of her snack. She did it with a bright smile on her face, and her father (about ten feet away) saw me look over to him with a "Is it ok?" look on my face. He smiled and nodded. This would never happen in America.

At church on the last Sunday I was there, I was able to teach the middle grade children's Sunday School class. I had planned in my head exactly what I was going to teach about, but somewhere along the journey up the 1200 flights of stairs it took to get to the classroom, God changed the plan on me. I could almost feel the voice of God saying "Scrap your idea. Here's mine. Do it. I love you."

For the next 30 minutes, I told the children how important first impressions are. The image you give someone of who you are in the first moments you have with them will ultimately be the pattern they remember about you forever. This includes your witness for God. We talked about Stephen's sacrifice in the book of Acts, and while Stephen never saw Paul standing in the crowd of people, holding the coats of the men who would deliver Stephen's death sentence, Paul would remember Stephen forever. Even as he walked toward his own death for the cause of Christ.

To be honest, I wasn't sure if the lesson had an effect on any of the kids. These are children who have been raised in church. They have heard it all. Why should this lesson be anything new? I saw more than one child looking at the ceiling, playing with their pencils, and spacing out.

What I didn't notice was how the eyes of one child were locked onto the lesson. If I had paid better attention, maybe I would have seen that they were not looking away, and feeling the same emotions that I'd had when I first hear about Stephen's sacrifice.

When I did finally see their reaction, I may have misjudged what I thought had been their eyes misting up. Maybe not, but one thing was certain. The smile and shy little "wave" I got from them during the church service afterward was more than enough to let me know that in spite of anything I had experienced to the contrary, this trip had found it's mark.

Sometimes, God changes our plans. Sometimes, he sends us on a journey that makes no sense to us. We may be tempted to balk, or fall victim to others saying "Are you sure you know what you are doing?" While YOU may not know what you are doing, God does.

And in my life, as He knows will always be more precious to me than any other gift he may give, He often reveals it in the eyes of a child.

Thank you, God.

For your love.