Of love and discipline...

I remember this conversation so clearly; 'Erica, there is a difference between punishment and discipline - we want you to discipline.'

That sounded simple enough, I was more than willing to call the consequences of disobedience discipline if it would please my superiors. I was working at camp that summer and had a cabin full of girls who excelled in the area of disobedience, in such a way that you slept with one eye open. Whether I was breaking up fights, discovering hidden beer bottles or addressing an overall lack of respect I was furiously ready to 'discipline.' I even had the method for this 'discipline' in mind - I had decided that these hellions were going to pick rocks by hand in the horse arena in the heat of the day. It was perfect; it would exhaust them and hopefully put a damper on their abundant supply of schemes.

I presented the 'discipline' to the camp director, expecting some praise for my ingenuity and empathy for my ongoing suffering, only to hear that my proposal wasn't discipline. Rather my proposal was punishment and it would not become discipline until I chose to go with them and work along side them. It would be discipline if I endured the consequences with them.

'WHAT!' - this did not fit in my understanding of justice, I had done nothing wrong and now I was sentenced to the same consequences as they were. But, I was challenged in my love for the girls, did I love them in the midst of their hurtful words and actions, in the midst their blatant disrespect to discipline them so they would grow? Did I love them enough to walk along side them experiencing the same consequences of their discipline so they would know that they were loved?

To Adam he said, "Because you listened to your wife and ate from the tree about which I command you, 'You must not eat of it'

Cursed is the ground because of you; through painful toil you will eat of it all the days of your life. It will produce thorns and thistles for you, and you will eat the plants of the field. By the sweat of you brow you will eat your food until you return to the ground, since from it you were taken; for dust you are and to dust you will return.'"...

And the Lord God said, "The man has now become like one of us, knowing good and evil. He must not be allowed to reach out his hand and take also from the tree of life and eat, and live forever. So the Lord God banished him from the Garden of Eden to work the ground from which he had been taken. After he drove the man out, He placed on the east side of the Garden of Eden cherubim and a flaming sword flashing back and forth to guard the way to the tree of life.

I find it completely fascinating that God did not stay in the Garden of Eden, that He did not remain in the heavens. God banished Adam and Eve away from the garden, sealed off all entrances and joined them in the harsh realities of their discipline. God loved them that much - enough to endure the consequences with them so they may grow and ultimately lead to salvation through Christ.

I am currently struggling with God - and have been for a long time. Often during these times I banish myself from His presence. I punish myself, unaware, that God does not punish, but He disciplines - and He walks softly with me through my self imposed exile.

That summer I did discipline my girls. I spent hour upon hour stooped over picking rocks with them. And as I did I loved them more than I thought possible. Ironically they were unable to see my love, for the most part, they saw only the rocks in front of them. Yet, together we persevered, and on the last day, one girl - the hardest heart of all - came to me angry, with her fists flailing dangerously close to my head, and in an outburst of past hurt and tears she told me she loved me too. The sweetness of the moment, still moves my heart - because she was precious to me.

And as I consider that I realize in my moments outside the Garden of Eden, perhaps I am more precious to God than I can understand - in my past hurts and tears, in my ignorance and disobedience, with my fists flailing in childish exasperation I desperately cry out that I love HIM. I am just not always sure what that means, or what that looks like. I am certain, however, regardless of whether I wander the desert or kneel before His throne, He will discipline me with a deep, deep love.

The Question of the Still, Small Voice....

I am not a strong person - I am actually quite weak. There are times and places in life when frailty is good, when you watch the leaves of fall quietly surrender and in their genteel nature flutter softly to the ground. When you see the tears creep in the corners of a father's eyes as his little girl dances her first ballet recital. The weakness in the shaking hand that finally extends itself towards the awaiting embrace of help. These are good weakness.

Then there is weakness that hurts more than offers beauty or healing. It is this weakness that I see in myself - the weakness of a bulimic who fights, kicking and screaming not to become the girl she was 5 years ago, because if she does she knows she may never come back the same way again. The weakness of the shackled man who has bound his entire body with the power of money and greed. The weakness of the proud who hold their heads so high they are completely unable to see those they trample upon.

It is because of these (and many more) weaknesses that I have felt the need to flee, always consoling myself that if I find a way to live away from home, I too can live away from these weakness. If I dedicate myself to another country I can avoid the traps I fall into here. And I am willing to go! I will go! Take me!

And yet...I have been plagued with the soft prodding of this question: What if you are called to North America?

WHAT! Surely I am not called here, there are countless reasons why I am not called to be here. I am willing to go - Now, I do not think everyone is called to live in another country, but I do think think there are many people living in this country who should be answer their soft prodding question of, What if you are called to Pakistan? India? Russia? Japan? Guatemala? And I wonder to myself I am willing to go...why would I be called here and why would I stay if people who are called there and are not willing to go....

And yet I wrestle with the soft persistence of that question.

Please do not automatically assume, because of this post I will not fulfill what I have committed to for this next portion of my life - I am just.... I am just wondering. And praying.

And hoping that you, the few who are reading this will open the ears of your heart and begin struggle with the very question that the still, small voice may be asking of you ....

Happiness is like a butterfly which, when pursued,is always beyond our grasp, but, if you will sit down quietly, may alight upon you.

Nathaniel Hawthorne

(Cheezy? Perhpas. Hallmark Material? I suppose....but Mr. Hawthorne is an intelligent wordsmith like no other...)

'OhGodOhGodOhGod'

Yesterday I had a new experience. I drove through the mountains from Banff to Abbotsford, by myself, with only a voice reading Philip Yancey's book on prayer to keep me company. It was quite an amazing 10 hours. I left a brisk autumn Banff morning,the sun was shinning, the ground was brown and the air was vibrant. The mountains were so closely leaning over the road I could feel their breath on my car. Two hours into my drive the mountains disappeared, snow and fog had stolen them from my sight and I drove on, only able to see the car in front of me and the mysterious winter around me . In a few hours I passed through winter and on to a spring, so to speak, here I was met with pelting rain, the return of the jagged mountains and emerald lakes. This took me into a certain summer, filled with sunshine and intriguing valleys that finally led me to the Chiliwack river whose mountainous treescape shared their evening rain with me until I arrived here in Abbotsford.

Quite the trip. During this drive I thought about a great many of things, I listened to the voice from the CD sharing Yancey's thoughts on prayer and considered my own thoughts on prayer. Somewhere along the trip, the words of Yancey's book made me think of a conversation I had had with a friend not too long ago. She was commenting on prayer language. She had noticed that everyone who prays semi-regularly seems to revert back to favourite phrases, praises and pleas. Between them and God there exists a unique dialect of commonly spoken words. And I wondered; what is my dialect, what are my beautiful words?

And it struck me, more than any other prayer God receives from my heart is the 'Oh God.' prayer. But it is more like 'OhGodOhGodOhGod.' This is the prayer I often pray at night. Nearly every night I lie in my warm bed, covered by a cozy quilt and my mind takes me back to wander the streets of East Hastings in Vancouver, the North End of Winnipeg, the alleys of Regina and other dark places my heart has seen. And I curl myself into a ball and the only words of prayer that can spill out of my mouth are 'OhGodOhGodOhGod.'

This is also the prayer I unconsciously pray in dire situations. A few summers ago I can remember driving (way too fast) down a gravel road in the middle of the Southern Saskatchewan prairies, only to feel the rear end of my car start to fishtail. Soon I was being flicked from one side of the gravel road to the other and what prayer fell out of my mouth? Yes, the 'OhGodOhGodOhGod' prayer made another appearance...

Countless times I have prayed this prayer, when holding a wailing friend whom I can do nothing physically to help, God receives an 'OhGodOhGodOhGod' prayer on their behalf. The prairie sunset, the mountain stream view, the new born baby all of these wonders invoke in me a loss of words and I simply pray the 'Oh God' prayer.

I have to admit this is not the beautiful dialect of prayer I was hoping to discover. There is no poetry or rhythm to these prayers. Upon first glance they lack the maturity that should be evident in prayer. Or do they? They are simple. They are not over dressed. They are always heartfelt. They are childish. And it softly occurred to me as I breathed those familiar words yet another time as my car rounded a mountain to take in another glorious view, that my prayer dialect is probably the most honest thing about me, and that honesty is what makes it beautiful.

Rain, Lint & Thanksgiving

I am not sure what to write to you right now, I am not sure that you exist and therefore I feel in some ways my indecision about content is wasted. Most times I take great comfort in writing into the internet's abyss today, however I crave a responsive smile, good coffee and a solid embrace.

Perhaps I should put my mood in context, I am in BC. It is raining. It always seems to be raining - which I like. I have jazz music playing, which I also like. In front of me is a creamy cup of hot chocolate, ok a now empty cup, also something I like... and I find myself staring into nothing, watching lint floating from nowhere to nowhere, wondering how much of that lint falls upon me without my consent.

Today is Thanksgiving Sunday - the day of my family's celebration. Today is the day where my sister and I would usually find a quiet moment of indigestion and slip off in a beat up truck. She would drive like a maniac through stubble fields, windows rolled down and heater cranked up because I can't handle the cold. I will have stolen my brother's favourite jean quilt, which always upsets him. I would be wrapped in that quilt, sitting beside my little sister as she whips us through golden fields which now resemble a military haircut, because harvest is finished and the long stalks of grain have be taken. I would lean back, flip through my journal, twirl my pen and imagine what words I might transfer from my brain to those pages.

We would return, much to Gramma's relief, alive....completely wind blown, I would sneak some extra sugar to my entertainingly rowdy little cousins and sit and have a good cup of my mom's coffee. Letting family chat swirl around me, smelling harvest on my own skin and still considering the string of words that I never did write down....my sister would anxiously flounce about- while my father, brother and I would make a concentrated effort to get a rise out of Gramma. My aunt would laugh loudly and my uncle would smile quietly taking in the sound of her voice. My tiny sister in law would eat more food than humanly possible arming everyone with jokes about how someone so small could consume so much and never gain an ounce. My great aunt and uncle would quietly take in the expressions of their family because their hearing has long since left them and I would enjoy dancing about the kitchen with and around my mom - refilling wine glasses and coffee cups. The house would be hot, but few would notice...and I would soak in Thanksgiving.

I am not complaining. I am not even terribly sad. I am seeing the present and the past in one glance. I can smell wheat fields and yet when I look out my window I see streaks of Abbotsford rain. Perhaps I am looking into the future and accepting it will be filled with vivid memories combined with foreign sights and sounds...I don't necessarily need to have the past in my present. What do I need?

hmmmm, like I said a smile, a coffee and an embrace...

Today the sky cried...

Today the sky cried and so did I. This morning I walked out side to see an emotional horizon, grey and sentimental the sky above me slowly squeezed out one tear drop after another. I couldn't help but to join the drizzle.

I have been plagued with questions of self lately: Why am I here? Why am I discontent? Who exactly do I think I am? So often I feel like I am attempting to walk between two lives. The life of Christ, following Him, being obedient to Him alone. And the life of self. And, in my attempt to walk in between two lives, I have a forboding sense of loosing them both.

If I lost Jesus, I would die. I would cease to function, but my home, my old life and old dreams - they cling to me and I to them. The position of in between, in my tear filled eyes is the ultimate betrayal of both worlds. And as I sat miserably contemplating my hearts unfaithfulness I prayed words from Psalm 25:

"Turn to me and be gracious to me, for I am lonely and afflicted..."

And Jesus answered me, what words did He have for me, His traitorous follower?

"My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness"(II Cor. 12:9).

I don't understand grace - and I feel that I may never understand grace. So often I have looked at this verse, heard Paul's pleading words and assumed that this grace was limited to a 'thorn in the side' inflicted by the outside world - not a self inflicted thorn of weakness. I am the very thorn that inflicts me - I am sinful and selfish and utterly ruined. And yet, my God says to me, "My grace is sufficient for you, my power is made perfect in weakness." And Lord I am weak.

I am not sure how to wrap my brain around this; the very thorn that weakens me, my weak humaness makes God's power perfect. His Grace is beyond sufficient, it is extravagant. And as I process this, I continue to to slowly drizzle with my companion, the sky...we comfort one another as we let our tears fall on the world around us - it seems tears must fall so growth may continue...

Every Good and Perfect Gift

Today I sit and I write fully realizing this blog is completely off the radar - and I am ok with that. I will send my words into the vacuum of cyber space and cherish the catharsis.

One time I wrote that I wished I could have a space in my life that was like a deep, cup of tea. A time for reflection. A time for conversation. A time free of busyness. What a gift that would be? It sounds so perfect doesn't it? And yet whenever the opportunity arrose I would run from it. I would run from my cup of tea. I think because I knew that once I began to partake I would fall apart - and I do not fall apart well. As soon as the warmth of the cup was brought my lips I knew a drastic outpouring of emotion would result.

And if you look at my life - I have done a wonderful job of avoiding such times of refreshment and comfort. No tea for me - I have run from one demanding place to the other avoiding the tea. And with the multple layers and colours of this past summer in my wake I knew there was no way I could emotionally handle slowing down for that space, for that time, for that deep, cup of tea.

Yet, God and I often differ in our opinions and He has handed me the very thing I have been avoiding. Currently I am in a place where my resposibilities have been whittled down to a fraction of what they once were. And my time and attention have opened themselves up to the space God is calling me to.

And - today I finally caved. I took hold of the cup of tea God has offered me. I am entering this a time of richness. A time of warmth. A time of strong scents and smooth taste. A time of greiving. A time of prayer. A time of reflecting and self examination. A time of healing. A time of depth. A hard time - but a caring gift offered to me by my Father.

Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights who does not change...(James 1:17a)

Every good and perfect gift - even the hard ones....amen.

I don't think I knew what I was getting into....

I am becoming increasingly more aware that I was totally clueless as to what I was getting into when I was 8 years old and innocently made the decision not to go to hell. I sat on the scratchy floor of an old camp cabin and prayed that Jesus would save me from hell - now I will admit that knowing Christ is so much more to me now, than simply not going to hell (though I have to say I'm ok with that part too).

But, what did I get myself into.

I once heard someone say that Christ was wrecking his life.

Christ is not someone who comes into your life and smoothes over the bumps and potholes that frustrate us and cause us to fall. He opens our eyes and hearts so we can see so many more pot holes and our hearts so we can cry when we helplessly watch others stumble amoungst them ~ with their Eyes closed.

And we can't exactly walk away from what Christ does to our souls. Once we have made Him a part of us we are marked...transformed. We can squint away our vision until we return to our darkness, but it is forced because we now know the light.

I don't think I am doing it right. Have you ever thought that? I mean I am walking sometimes eyes open - more times eyes squinted shut. But I am walking on this road and I realize...or re-realize that Christ wants me. All of me. Everything. Open your eyes all they way child because Christ wants all of me.

And I ask myself (not for the first time) what the heck does that exactly look like?

"Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light."

Does this include me giving - fully giving all my burdens to Christ. I rather like holding on to them and keeping myself up until the wee hours in the morning as I wrestle with them...

Unless the LORD builds the house,
its builders labor in vain.
Unless the LORD watches over the city,
the watchmen stand guard in vain.
In vain you rise early
and stay up late,
toiling for food to eat--
for he grants sleep to those he loves.

Right now my heart is wrestling...I am in the house of the Lord building and watching, but unless I give everything...everything to God it is in vain. Is my half sacrificial life lived in vain....

Quite a big thought to wrestle with...like I said the eight year old in me never saw this coming....

Ok Intellectuals - What are your thots?

"The matter is quite simple. The Bible is very easy to understand. But we Christians are a bunch of scheming swindlers. We pretend to be unable to understand it because we know very well that the minute we understand, we are obliged to act accordingly. Take any words in the New Testament and forget everything except pledging yourself to act accordingly. My God, you will say, if I do that my whole life will be ruined. How could I ever get on in the world? Herein lies the real place of Christian scholarship. Christian scholarship is the Church's prodigious invention to defend itself against the Bible, to ensure that we can continue to be good Christians without the Bible coming to close. Oh, priceless scholarship, what would we do without you? Dreadful it is to fall into the hands of the living God. Yes, it is even dreadful to be alone with the New Testament."

-Soren Kierkegaard

Um...We'll Call This - Sermon Block

Yup. I have Sermon Block. Sermon Block is characterised by me sitting in my little office with the very green, patio carpet. Eating so many smarties that my stomach is aching but I can't stop colour coding and munching...And I turn every thot that comes through my brain into a catchy little diddy...all sung to the tune of 'Spider man, Spiderman, does whatever a spider can.'

Ok, so maybe I should get out more.

This coming Sunday is the 1st Sunday of Advent! (Yes, that deserves an exclamation point). A time to remind ourselves of the deep anticipation each of us has within. I think I am going to talk about the hope of Mary. Mary the Mother of Christ... now, there was a 14 year old girl who had serious faith. I admire that. She knew the trueness of hope...ok maybe my sermon isn't as blocked as my spiderman diddys may lead one to believe.

I just feel...I don't know. Pent up. (This could be the smarties talking).

I have passion.
Deep passion.
I am just wondering what it really looks like.


Therefore, my dear friends, as you have always obeyed - not only in my presence, but now much more in my absence - contiunue to work out your salvation with fear and trembling, for it is God who works in you to will and to act according to his good purpose.

A guy named Paul wrote that to a bunch of people living in a city call Philippi. I like it.

To work out my salvation with fear and trembling. With awe, joy and reverence. With pure wonder.

God, who works in me to will and act according to His good purpose. God who works on my passion and actions. God who will use such a weak person for His glory.

Ok - so in summation...I am trying to say that I might be focusing on things that aren't my passions for the sake of passionate discussion. And ultimately above all I need to be strive towards God with fear and trembling.

So essentially nothing concrete was expressed here - just some non practical jargon. (I am a pastor aren't I....).

In my defence Smarties contain both sugar and gluten. (And why isn't Sugar spelled with an 'h'...SHUGAR...? Just wondering).

I apologise for the consistent stream of rubbish that is expelled into cyberspace as a result of this blog.

The Defiance of That Which Glows...

Last night was the blackest night I have seen in a long time. It was so dark that I felt as I was standing underneath it its blackness slowly inked my skin. Nothing around me was left untouched by its deep colour.

And as I looked up into the depths of it, accompanied only by the lone black tree at my side - I was again brougt to a state of breathlessness. My searching eyes found that far beyond the darkness gleamed small gems. Gems untouched, uninked, undarkened. In complete defiance they glowed in the utter darkness. The velvety softness of night couldn't touch them.

Draw whatever symbolism from it that you will. But when I woke in the morning I found myself wishing that I was still standing under that deep night and watching that soft rebellion of light.

God is Holy.

Everyday, I find Him reminding me of that.

God is Holy.

Today I am going on a date with God. I am going to my favourite coffee shop. I am going to sit with my Bible and journal and tell Him I what I saw in His creation last night. I will tell Him how much I treasure Him and how unworthy I am of Him. I will revel in His love and above all I will hold on to that acute awareness that God is Holy.

Thursday

Tonight was wonderful.

Initially when I took this job I made myself four promises.
Promise 1: I must take at least one day off a week.
Promise 2: I will be more committed to practicing the spiritual discipline of silence.
Promise 3: I will take every opportunity to live in joy and laughter.
Promise 4: I will continually look for new expereinces.

Well, Promises 1 & 2 have been difficult to maintain. (Ok so I haven't practiced silence at all this fall....but I will). But Promises 3 & 4 have been really good for my heart.

For instance this Tuesday I learned how to shoot a 22. Now, I am not sure exactly what I will do with this new found knowledge, as I am too much of a wuss to kill anything. I did however, feel rather tough as I lugged my gun accross the feild to shoot at my wooden target. (...'lugged my gun' - never thought I would use those words in a sentance).

And then to night, this Thursday night found my self in another new and joyful situation. I sat at a table with four men playing poker. Oh, yes - I put my five bucks into the pot and lost every penny. They each had their beers, I had my diet pepsi. They talked about hunting, I talked about Youth Group. Life was good.

And initally so was I, apparently four of a kind and the wide eyes of a girl playing dumb pays pretty well! I really had fun...a new expereince but I think I'll add it to my list of good expereinces.

I suppose the moral for my day is simply - Jesus brings us joy in the weirdest ways. I don't deserve it. I don't know my heart like I should. I don't know Jesus' heart like I should. I am not the person I want to be or should be... But He still chooses to bring me joy.

...an emotional grit publisher...

I am feeling honest.

I had a friend tell me once that was why she hated blogs. People put so much of their lives 'out there' - all the emotional grit of life published for the curious world to stare at.

I think I may be an emotional grit publisher. Which I think, is a big step for me. I made a promise to God once; that if He would give me my tears back I would start being real. I have tears now, a pure gift from my Father - but the reality, that is something I still lack so much of.

I have moments where I am real - and honestly I try to be real. But for some reason people do not seem to notice my genuine attempts. They see the Erica they want to see - not the Erica who is. Sometimes I feel like the Erica they want to see, needs to be seen, or maybe one day they will realize I am not who they think I am. I don't want to be.

One day - things are going to come crashing down and all that will be left standing there is me. I both long for and dread that day.

I am lost is a place that remembers who I was and has created who I am. But refuses to acknowledge the growth and dirt of me in my trueness.

That same friend and I were talking in the same conversation about being known. I want to be known. And loved in spite of who I am.

And now more than ever I want the willingness to know people for who they are and love them...

Prayers and Peeling Paint

I did it. You know I swore up and down that I wouldn't but I did. I took 'the' job. You know the one I said I absolutely, would not take. Yup - I've had that job or 2 months now.

I am working as an Interim Pastor in my home church. Now just to give you an idea of the Crane Valley/Ormiston area I want you to picture the smallest town you can imagine. Got it? Ok - now divide it in half. And now do it again...there you have it!

And to be honest I rather enjoy it. I never thought I would. But I do. I suppose I have so much love for my church family that enjoyment in natural.

And I am also learning much about prayer. In honesty - I am not the prayer warrior that sentence might lead you to believe. But I am beginning to understand more and more of the power that is in prayer and the responsibility I have to pray. Because my prayer has power to change lives through the victory of Christ. I must do everything within my power to change those lives - thus pray.

And while prayer requires great persistence which is so far beyond my mental grasp ~ it reminds me of peeling paint. Or rust. Peeling paint if left unwatched or unnoticed can, over time, cause an entire building to collapse. Rust can, over time, render and entire autmobile useless.

I have decided my prayers are like peeling paint or rust. I am a small insignificant person - and I hope that Satan overlooks my prayers because I plan to take down skyscrapers!

Right now I pray for long awaited revival to come out of my sleeping church and light up my shrinking town. I pray for long awaited revival ~ and if I see the results I will praise God. And if I have to persist without having my eyes opened to the results I will praise God.

(or I will try...this is a learning process remember...)

...You should probably disregard this...

Ummm.... much has happened in the last little while. And while I could fill you in on the great mystery my life has become, even to myself. I would rather start mid-rant. No rant is too strong - mid medicated thot. (Thats better).

I am currently sitting on my parents' couch, by myself - drinking orange juice that strangely smells like ham. Heartily medicated with pain killers as I recover in a state of post-op. (It really is nothing in get in a huff about, minor surgery - but man is recovery a waste of time!). And I got to thinking....

Never a good thing when pain killers are near by. There are people in this world who can attest to my basket case-esque behaviour when I am perscribed anything stronger than Advil.

And as I am sitting here watching this horribly immoral show that I love called Grey's Anatomy, relating to the poor misguided George who I am more like than I care to admit. I turn to my couch mate - my mom's terribly mean little dog - and wonder why she hasn't taken advantage of my weak state and attacked...when I begin to crave icecream. Good icecream - that kind of icecream that costs way too much to come in the small size in which is comes in.

You know the mini break up bucket...or the I got fired bucket...

Every single female knows what I am talking about. Ben and Jerry are rich because they understand women.

Anyway, I thinking about this and I start to miss all of my Ben and Jerry friends... you know who you are. Those friends who don't need to knock. They can come in plop down in front of you, hand you a spoon and you feel loved.

I just wanted to say that I miss you guys...
(and I'll probably delete this once the codine wears off....)

All and all this should probably be disregarded. I may fill you in on the actual state of affairs later this month.

So, uh, how was Japan?

It is 11:30 at night and I am supposed to be doing something productive. And trust me there are many productive things I could be doing...laundry being at the top of the list. But, what I really, really need to be doing is preparing my 10 min time slot for tomorrow's church service.

In this slot I need to answer the question...'So,uh, how was Japan?' So I sit myself down with a new pen and some paper and then...... And then I blank. I think it would be easier for me to answer the question 'So, how was God?' Japan was Japanese...but God was amazing. Japan was beautiful...but God was present. The people in Japan touched my heart....but God - oh, God did serious damage to my stubborn heart.

I learned alot in Japan, but one lesson or realization stands above the rest. Perhaps it is the theme that the other lessons rest upon. Salvation. Pretty basic - But SALAVATION!

I learned how truly precious and wonderful salvation is. I have salvation. I have been saved. I have expereinced Christ. The Holy Spirit dwells in me. These are not the chapters of another trendy book on how to live Christianity successfully (which I will share my opinion on another day). This is true to life - we live in this joy.

And until Japan, I had forgotten that joy - or maybe I was too consumed with life to have ever stopped to revel in it. But in this country an entire ocean away I watched people. Million upon millions of people, living completely unware of what they were missing. Unaware of the most important gift they will ever encounter in the entire span of their life...unware that salvation was waiting for them.

Salvation from death.
Salvation from darkness.
Salvation from purposelessness.
Salvation through Christ.

Savlation now burns within me. The awareness of salvation rolls around inside of me. I am aware more than ever before in my entire life that the world needs an opportunity to accept this treasure - just like I have been given such an opportunity.

And where do I start Japan, Turkey, Tibet.... 3rd Ave NE, Moose Jaw? Today I choose to live a life marked by salvation - may God use it for His Glory.

So, uh, how was Japan? - Good.

How was God? - Words cannot even begin to describe....

Mesu Soup, Fish and Rice

Mesu Soup, fish and rice anyone? That was my breakfast this morning and I have to say the more I eat it the more I enjoy it. Though in all honesty the first time I sat down at the table and saw a fish the length of my index finger looking back at me I was a little concnerned - however this cruchy little delight is packed full of iron and really quite tasty.

Well, my team and I have hit the one week mark here in Japan and we show no signs of slowing down. It is so surprising to me how much this country needs the gospel. I suppose I am so used being in a country that has some basic understanding of Christianity. Here, there is no base. Nothing but pure facination in a lot of cases and a devotion to ones own tradition. The challege is to present the truth the ONE true God and do that without relying on any past knowledge of Jesus or sin. I am constantly being reminding how much hope I have and the pure unretrained joy of actually having Jesus as my Lord and Savior!

There is one woman who is quite close to my heart right now, for some reason she loves our team and has come to every event we have done. She comes to learn english but usually by the end of our time has asked me some question about religion or my Jesus. Please pray! We also all really care about our host families (all non christian). We want them to be impacted by Christ through us - we want them to know freedom...

God has great things in store for the people of Japan, I just know it. Please joy me in praying for a state of spiritual transformation.

The Holy Spirit is at work.

Japan...

Hello to those few and faithful who read this blog,

I am just checking out for a while - this coming wednesday @5:00 I begin my journey to Japan. I am going with an MBMS Internation ACTION team and we are gone until August 12. Please keep us in your prayers ( and I mean that, don't just read this and then forget to pray!).


God is powerful, Jesus Christ is my Lord and Savior and the Holy Spirit is moving. I am excited to go where I will be given a chance to see God moving in a new way and in a new culture. I am excited to have the Spirit working my heart over as we speak. This training session has been really a time of sincere change for me - at the deepest levels.

I know this post is really quited disjointed but my internet time is ticking.

Thanks for praying

How Great is our God

I will exalt you, my God the king;
I will praise your name forever and ever.
Everyday I will praise you and extol your name forever and ever.
Great is the Lord and most worthy of praise;
his greatness no one can fathom. Psalm 145:1-3

This weekend I observed something that brought tears to my eyes; a widow who had spent the last year battling with her husband as he fought cancer raising her heart in worship at his funeral.

God is greater. That is what her action spoke of so loudly, God is greater. It is strange how I lose focus of the greatness of God. He is GREAT, VAST and ALL POWERFUL, in our deaths and in our lives God is greater. We are part of His great plan not the other way around.

I know this is not a revelation of great wisdom, as my thoughts seldom are but it is a thought of continuing impact on my heart. A woman whose beloved has passed on, whose teen children are mourning, whose life has been permanently altered raises her hands in surrender and worship. Because God is greater.

This puts everything into perspective, all things fall short of God's greatness and therefore our worship of God's greatness should be placed at the highest level of importance in our lives. Everything else, all the worries and stresses of life, is secondary. Worship is primary.

How Great is our God.