Showing posts with label Missions. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Missions. Show all posts
Thursday, March 25, 2010
Planting with hope
From greedy Czars to power-hungry Communists, rulers of Russia have often treated the people with abandon. We're over 90 years from the Russian Revolution, which was to free the people and instead plunged into them into hopelessness.
I'm praying over Europe with Campus Crusade for 40 days. If you haven't heard about it, check out this link.
Since 1990, when socialism fell and religious freedom was written into their new constitution, American Christians were hopeful that we could bring new faith and hope to them.
Even though Russia is the largest country in the world, spanning 11 time zones and inhabiting more than 160 million people, Christians have been busy explaining the gospel throughout the country. Campus Crusade reports that "there is not a region, republic, city or village where seeds of the gospel have not been planted."
Yet the fruit has been slow in coming.
Cuba still sleeps under a socialist dictator, which little religious freedom. Yet there is a flourishing Christian community there.
A Cuban Christian explained why: "Americans came to our country 150 years ago. Missionaries came to teach us about Jesus. Today, we are your fruit."
A foreign missions movement in the 1800's left spiritual seeds that have blossomed today.
In the first century, Paul faced a similar problem where the message was not always well received. His viewpoint is valuable. " I planted the seed, Apollos watered it, but God made it grow. So neither he who plants nor he who waters is anything, but only God, who makes things grow." (1 Cor 3:6-7)
Without God, many lose hope. Let us not join them but continue on planting and watering. God will bring growth.
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
In the Presence of the Poor
I've had a keen interest in the work being done by Christians in India. I have friends there who have completed a three-year stint training locals to lead their churches and teach their own people. The situation in India is challenging, with a sort of freedom of religion juxtaposed beside intense persecution.
When I had a chance to read In the presence of the Poor by Kay Marshall, I was anxious to learn more about the work in India. It's an important, thoughtful book and I'd recommend you read it, too. I've included purchase information at the end of this post but here's more about the book:
Dallas/Ft. Worth, TX—There is no shortage of books about Western missionary heroes. But in the developing world, just as in the West, the most effective way to reach the lost is through the local church. As one Indian Christian leader told missionaries from abroad, “You have been offering the water of life to the people of India in a foreign cup. That is why we have been slow to receive it. If you offer it to us in an Indian cup, we are more likely to accept it.”
This is the new face of missions. The global church can learn much from the stories of indigenous missionary heroes. In her new book, In the Presence of the Poor, author Kay Marshall Strom shares the amazing story of Professor B. E. Vijayam, Ph.D., a university professor and award-winning scientist who has made a career of reaching India’s poorest people with God’s love.
Dr. Vijayam was born the son and grandson of prominent Christian bishops in India, but he gained his reputation as a nationally recognized scientist. Driven by his pioneering spirit and limitless love for India’s poor and forgotten souls, Dr. Vijayam is breaking new ground in missionary practice, and he has much to teach the Western church.
As a geologist, Dr. Vijayam dedicated much of his research to improving the living conditions for the oppressed Dalit people. He encouraged other scientists to venture past the hallowed halls of academia and bring technology to the poor. As the founder of organizations like MERIBA (Mission to Encourage Rural Impact in Backward Areas), he achieved the unthinkable—uniting entire villages of Dalit people, educating them concerning their rights, and overturning centuries of culturally sanctioned tyranny.
Through various other social action groups, he brought clean water, agricultural innovation, and environmental protection to people all over India. Dr. Vijayam is not just another social activist. Every technological innovation served a greater purpose—setting the stage to share the Gospel with India’s 4,600 people groups.
“To Dr. Vijayam, the gospel must be holistic,” Strom says. “As the Bible says, it is no use telling a person who is naked and hungry to go in peace without actually taking care of that person’s physical needs.”
Today Joshua Vision India, one of Dr. Vijayam’s projects, trains church planters to use technology for the benefit of the people groups they serve. In the Presence of the Poor is more than just one man’s story.
It is a wake-up call to us in the Western church who have grown comfortable in our affluence and indifferent to the plight of our Christian brothers and sisters in the developing world. Strom stresses the need for partnership between churches rich in resources (i.e., North Americans) and churches rich in opportunities for evangelism (i.e., Indian churches).
Through his work with Partners International, Dr. Vijayam has sought to foster that kind of cooperation. Strom urges Christians in the West to catch the vision of a global body of believers united in service and love for Christ.
“Now is the time for the family of God to link hands around the world. It is time for us not only to teach but to be teachable,” says Strom. “It is time for the financially blessed among us to loosen our grip and pour out the finances that will enable those with wide-open opportunities to make the most of them. It is time to support each other so that we can bring in a great harvest for the Lord.”
In the Presence of the Poor by Kay Marshall Strom
Authentic Publishing ISBN: 978-1-606547-012-8/163 pages/softcover/$12.99 www.authenticpublishing.com
Friday, August 21, 2009
Lance in Africa
I've known Lance since he was born. He's now 24 and piloting an airplane for AIM-AIR for three months in Nairobi and places beyond.
He's posting a blog with some colorful insights regarding his look at Africa. Take a look here.
He's posting a blog with some colorful insights regarding his look at Africa. Take a look here.
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
The Blood of Lambs by Kamal Saleem
It is time for a FIRST Wild Card Tour book review! If you wish to join the FIRST blog alliance, just click the button. We are a group of reviewers who tour Christian books. A Wild Card post includes a brief bio of the author and a full chapter from each book toured. The reason it is called a FIRST Wild Card Tour is that you never know if the book will be fiction, non~fiction, for young, or for old...or for somewhere in between! Enjoy your free peek into the book!You never know when I might play a wild card on you!
Today's Wild Card author is:
and the book:
Howard Books (April 7, 2009)
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Kamal Saleem was born under another name into a large Sunni Muslim family in Lebanon. At age seven, he was recruited by the Muslim Brotherhood and immediately entered a Palestinian Liberation Organization terror training camp in Lebanon. After being involved in terror campaigns in Israel, Europe, Afghanistan, and Africa, and finally making radical Islam converts in the United States, Saleem renounced jihad and became an American citizen. He has appeared on CNN, CBS News, and Fox News programs, and has spoken on terrorism and radical Islam at Stanford University, the University of California, the Air Force Academy, and other institutions nationwide.Collaborator Writer, Lynn Vincent: Lynn Vincent, a U.S. Navy veteran, is features editor at WORLD Magazine, a national news biweekly. She is the author or co-author of six books, including the New York Times bestseller, Same of Kind of Different as Me.
This true story of an ex-terrorist reveals the life and mindset of radical Muslims. Now a US citizen, Kamal heralds a wake-up call to America.
Visit the author's website.
Product Details:
List Price: $23.99
Hardcover: 352 pages
Publisher: Howard Books (April 7, 2009)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 1416577807
ISBN-13: 978-1416577805
AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:
Beirut, Lebanon
1963
1
It was at my mother's kitchen table, surrounded by the smells of herbed olive oils and pomegranates, that I first learned of jihad. Every day, my brothers and I gathered around the low table for madrassa, our lessons in Islam. I always tried to sit facing east, toward the window above the long marble sink where a huge tree with sweet white berries brushed against the window panes. Made of a warm, reddish wood, our table sat in the middle of the kitchen and was surrounded by tesats, small rugs that kept us off the cool tile. Mother sat at the head of the table and read to us from the Koran and also from the hadith, which records the wisdom and instruction of Allah's prophet, Muhammad.
Mother's Koran had a hard black cover etched ornately in gold and scarlet. Her grandfather had given the Book to her father, who had given it her. Even as a small boy I knew my mother and father were devout Sunni Muslims. So devout, in fact, that other Sunnis held themselves a little straighter in our family's presence. My mother never went out without her hijab, only her coffee-colored eyes peering above the cloth that shielded her face, which no man outside our family had ever seen. My father, respected in our mosque, earned an honest living as a blacksmith. He had learned the trade from my grandfather, a slim Turk who wore a red fez, walked with a limp, and cherished thick, cinnamon-laced coffee.
Each day at madrassa, Mother pulled her treasured Koran from a soft bag made of ivory cloth and when she opened it, the breath of its frail, aging pages floated down the table. Mother would read to us about the glory of Islam, about the good Muslims, and about what the Jews did to us. As a four-year-old boy, my favorite parts were the stories of war.
I vividly remember the day in madrassa when we heard the story of a merciless bandit who went about robbing caravans and killing innocent travelers. "This bandit was an evil, evil man," Mother said, spinning the tale as she sketched pictures of swords for us to color.
An evil bandit? She had my attention.
"One day, there was a great battle between the Jews and the sons of Islam," she went on. "The bandit decided to join the fight for the cause of Allah. He charged in on a great, black horse, sweeping his heavy sword left and right, cutting down the infidel warriors."
My eyes grew wider. I held my breath so as not to miss a word.
"The bandit fought bravely for Allah, killing several of the enemy until the sword of an infidel pierced the bandit's heart. He tumbled from his horse and died on the battlefield."
Disappointment deflated my chest. What good is a story like that?
I could hear children outside, shouting and playing. A breeze from the Mediterranean shimmered in the berry tree. Mother's yaknah simmered on the stove — green beans snapped fresh, cooked with olive oil, tomato, onion, and garlic. She would serve it cool that evening with pita bread, fresh mint, and cucumbers. My stomach rumbled.
"After the bandit died," Mother was saying in her storytelling voice, "his mother had a dream. In this dream, she saw her son sitting on the shore of an endless crystal river, surrounded by a multitude of women who were feeding him and tending to him."
I turned back toward Mother. Maybe this story was not so bad after all.
"The bandit's mother was an observant woman, obedient to her husband and to Allah and Muhammad," my mother said. "This woman knew her son was a robber and a murderer. 'How dare you be sitting here in paradise?' she scolded him. 'You don't belong here. You belong in hell!' But her son answered, 'I died for the glory of Allah and when I woke up, He welcomed me into jannah.' "
Paradise.
My mother swept her eyes around the kitchen table. "So you see, my sons, even the most sinful man is able to redeem himself with one drop of an infidel's blood."
The Blood of Lambs © 2009 Arise Enterprises, LLC
1963
1
It was at my mother's kitchen table, surrounded by the smells of herbed olive oils and pomegranates, that I first learned of jihad. Every day, my brothers and I gathered around the low table for madrassa, our lessons in Islam. I always tried to sit facing east, toward the window above the long marble sink where a huge tree with sweet white berries brushed against the window panes. Made of a warm, reddish wood, our table sat in the middle of the kitchen and was surrounded by tesats, small rugs that kept us off the cool tile. Mother sat at the head of the table and read to us from the Koran and also from the hadith, which records the wisdom and instruction of Allah's prophet, Muhammad.
Mother's Koran had a hard black cover etched ornately in gold and scarlet. Her grandfather had given the Book to her father, who had given it her. Even as a small boy I knew my mother and father were devout Sunni Muslims. So devout, in fact, that other Sunnis held themselves a little straighter in our family's presence. My mother never went out without her hijab, only her coffee-colored eyes peering above the cloth that shielded her face, which no man outside our family had ever seen. My father, respected in our mosque, earned an honest living as a blacksmith. He had learned the trade from my grandfather, a slim Turk who wore a red fez, walked with a limp, and cherished thick, cinnamon-laced coffee.
Each day at madrassa, Mother pulled her treasured Koran from a soft bag made of ivory cloth and when she opened it, the breath of its frail, aging pages floated down the table. Mother would read to us about the glory of Islam, about the good Muslims, and about what the Jews did to us. As a four-year-old boy, my favorite parts were the stories of war.
I vividly remember the day in madrassa when we heard the story of a merciless bandit who went about robbing caravans and killing innocent travelers. "This bandit was an evil, evil man," Mother said, spinning the tale as she sketched pictures of swords for us to color.
An evil bandit? She had my attention.
"One day, there was a great battle between the Jews and the sons of Islam," she went on. "The bandit decided to join the fight for the cause of Allah. He charged in on a great, black horse, sweeping his heavy sword left and right, cutting down the infidel warriors."
My eyes grew wider. I held my breath so as not to miss a word.
"The bandit fought bravely for Allah, killing several of the enemy until the sword of an infidel pierced the bandit's heart. He tumbled from his horse and died on the battlefield."
Disappointment deflated my chest. What good is a story like that?
I could hear children outside, shouting and playing. A breeze from the Mediterranean shimmered in the berry tree. Mother's yaknah simmered on the stove — green beans snapped fresh, cooked with olive oil, tomato, onion, and garlic. She would serve it cool that evening with pita bread, fresh mint, and cucumbers. My stomach rumbled.
"After the bandit died," Mother was saying in her storytelling voice, "his mother had a dream. In this dream, she saw her son sitting on the shore of an endless crystal river, surrounded by a multitude of women who were feeding him and tending to him."
I turned back toward Mother. Maybe this story was not so bad after all.
"The bandit's mother was an observant woman, obedient to her husband and to Allah and Muhammad," my mother said. "This woman knew her son was a robber and a murderer. 'How dare you be sitting here in paradise?' she scolded him. 'You don't belong here. You belong in hell!' But her son answered, 'I died for the glory of Allah and when I woke up, He welcomed me into jannah.' "
Paradise.
My mother swept her eyes around the kitchen table. "So you see, my sons, even the most sinful man is able to redeem himself with one drop of an infidel's blood."
The Blood of Lambs © 2009 Arise Enterprises, LLC
Monday, April 6, 2009
Voice of the Martyrs
If you haven't checked out Voice of the Martyrs recently, it's worth a visit to their website. They have lots of tools to help in praying for and supporting our Christian family who face persecution in other places. They make it easy to be involved.
Here a few ideas that they offer (there are more on their website):
Here a few ideas that they offer (there are more on their website):
- Become a member of the Be-A-Voice network so you can promote prayer for the persecuted church by printing the Be-A-Voice prayer bulletins for distribution in your Bible study group, prayer group, Sunday school class, etc.and send your friends free copies of "Tortured for Christ".
- Write to imprisoned Christians. You can do this on your own or with a group (www.prisoneralert.com).
- Distribute VOM newsletters to members of your church.
- Distribute brochures offering a free VOM newsletter and resource.
- Show a VOM DVD to a congregation, Sunday school class, or Bible study.
- Use VOM material for a vacation Bible school.
- Encourage your church's high school youth group to watch Underground Reality Vietnam DVD (www.UR-Video.com).
- Suggest your church host a VOM Saturday conference (888- 330-8015 ext. 429).
- Sponsor a church worker, either individually or through a group (www.pastorsupport.com).
- Send Bibles to those who do not know Christ in a hostile or restricted country: you can order a Bibles Unbound DVD from www.biblesunbound.com.
Thursday, March 5, 2009
Together in Juarez
The day’s work was done and the cool of the summer evening beckoned my name. We were in the city of Juarez, Mexico, painting and building in an orphanage there. After a scorching day, our team had eaten a simple supper and cleared away the dishes.
I called to my teenage daughter. “Melissa, let’s go practice outside.”
She brought her flute and I carried my guitar to the deserted street outside. We were planning to play for a worship service later in the week.
Only a few of our notes floated through the air before the children began to gather. By the end of the first song, the sidewalk had disappeared under the growing knot children crowded closely from all sides.
We continued on: we needed the practice. I sang a chorus in English, children clinging to every word but understanding none.
I thought they’d get bored quickly. But more children glommed onto the back of the crowd. By now, our fan club overflowed the sidewalk and children stood on the rutted dirt street. We sang song after song, knowing these youth couldn’t understand a word.
As we began another song, the children began to sing. Their sweet young voices began softly but, as their confidence grew, others joined in. The music swelled. The flute took the melody and guitar the chords, but the children seized the song and sang sweetly in Spanish. They knew this song.
That’s how, on a dusty Mexican street, children of Mexico and children of America joined voices and hearts to sing “Amazing Grace.”
I called to my teenage daughter. “Melissa, let’s go practice outside.”
She brought her flute and I carried my guitar to the deserted street outside. We were planning to play for a worship service later in the week.
Only a few of our notes floated through the air before the children began to gather. By the end of the first song, the sidewalk had disappeared under the growing knot children crowded closely from all sides.
We continued on: we needed the practice. I sang a chorus in English, children clinging to every word but understanding none.
I thought they’d get bored quickly. But more children glommed onto the back of the crowd. By now, our fan club overflowed the sidewalk and children stood on the rutted dirt street. We sang song after song, knowing these youth couldn’t understand a word.
As we began another song, the children began to sing. Their sweet young voices began softly but, as their confidence grew, others joined in. The music swelled. The flute took the melody and guitar the chords, but the children seized the song and sang sweetly in Spanish. They knew this song.
That’s how, on a dusty Mexican street, children of Mexico and children of America joined voices and hearts to sing “Amazing Grace.”
Monday, February 2, 2009
In the midst
My temperature matched the thermometer outside, which wasn’t so good in Nogales, Mexico in June.
I had come with a team to build a second story room to be used for Sunday school classes in a small church. But the team traveled to the church every day while I slept on a mat on the floor back at our home base.
That was a disappointing week.
But I had come for two reasons: to help with construction and to present a puppet show on Sunday morning to the church people. We’d practiced for weeks with a program that included Spanish music and silent skits.
By Friday, I felt good enough to repair some of the props that had gotten jostled on the trip down. We rehearsed on Saturday and then Sunday came.
As I set up the stage, three of our teenagers rushed by, obviously upset. Before long, I found out that a fourth teenager – a stranger to our team, from another church in another state – had been caught packing drug paraphernalia into her suitcase for the trip home.
“My friends asked me to buy it for them,” she explained.
As you can imagine, there was some chaos in our preparations. I heard reports of angry words and tears, but I wanted to accomplish something on this trip. The show had to go on!
Shortly after that, the lights snapped off. We had no power for our CD player and no music for the puppet skits. First, we sent someone down to a shop to purchase what turned out to be very expensive dead batteries for the CD player.
Then my dear husband rigged up a system which would power the CD player from a car battery. We tested the system and were ready to go.
As he cut wires and taped connections, the puppet team gathered for prayer. It was hard to focus on something as trivial as a puppet show when we were dealing with a teenager who capped a week of veiled rebellion with this mess. We asked God to work where we couldn’t.
And we presented the puppet show. The electricity came on just as we were starting the first song and stayed on throughout the show, blinking once during a needed intermission. After we finished, the pastor talked to the people.
And 21 people came to faith in Jesus that day, coming forward to pray with the pastor.
That’s the story of a mission trip to Mexico, where God ignored my week of disappointment and did a miraculous work in the midst of chaos.
I had come with a team to build a second story room to be used for Sunday school classes in a small church. But the team traveled to the church every day while I slept on a mat on the floor back at our home base.
That was a disappointing week.
But I had come for two reasons: to help with construction and to present a puppet show on Sunday morning to the church people. We’d practiced for weeks with a program that included Spanish music and silent skits.
By Friday, I felt good enough to repair some of the props that had gotten jostled on the trip down. We rehearsed on Saturday and then Sunday came.
As I set up the stage, three of our teenagers rushed by, obviously upset. Before long, I found out that a fourth teenager – a stranger to our team, from another church in another state – had been caught packing drug paraphernalia into her suitcase for the trip home.
“My friends asked me to buy it for them,” she explained.
As you can imagine, there was some chaos in our preparations. I heard reports of angry words and tears, but I wanted to accomplish something on this trip. The show had to go on!
Shortly after that, the lights snapped off. We had no power for our CD player and no music for the puppet skits. First, we sent someone down to a shop to purchase what turned out to be very expensive dead batteries for the CD player.
Then my dear husband rigged up a system which would power the CD player from a car battery. We tested the system and were ready to go.
As he cut wires and taped connections, the puppet team gathered for prayer. It was hard to focus on something as trivial as a puppet show when we were dealing with a teenager who capped a week of veiled rebellion with this mess. We asked God to work where we couldn’t.
And we presented the puppet show. The electricity came on just as we were starting the first song and stayed on throughout the show, blinking once during a needed intermission. After we finished, the pastor talked to the people.
And 21 people came to faith in Jesus that day, coming forward to pray with the pastor.
That’s the story of a mission trip to Mexico, where God ignored my week of disappointment and did a miraculous work in the midst of chaos.
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
The Mission Minded Family
It is time to play a Wild Card! Every now and then, a book that I have chosen to read is going to pop up as a FIRST Wild Card Tour. Get dealt into the game! (Just click the button!) Wild Card Tours feature an author and his/her book's FIRST chapter!
You never know when I might play a wild card on you!
Let me add a comment here: this is an important book if you influence children. By encouraging a mission focus, we can help the next generation to get outside themselves, to care about those who can't speak for themselves.
I've read this book and it's a valuable reference. I recommend it.
Today's Wild Card author is:
and the book:
Authentic (July 1, 2008)
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Ann Dunagan lives with a passion for the LORD and the lost. She is a homeschooling mother of seven (ages 7 to 21), an author, and an international minister alongside her husband, Jon Dunagan. In 1986, the Dunagans founded Harvest Ministry, focusing on remote city-wide outreaches, church planting, National Evangelism Team Support (NETS), training orphans, and motivating others for missions. Ann has personally ministered in 29 nations: speaking to women, preaching in villages, training children and youth, and encouraging parents and teachers. She enjoys fervent worship, time with family and friends, and writing. The Dunagan family is based in Hood River, Oregon.Visit the author's website.
Product Details:
List Price: $ 14.99
Paperback: 188 pages
Publisher: Authentic (July 1, 2008)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 1934068438
ISBN-13: 978-1934068434
AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:
Releasing Your Family to God’s Destiny
God has a destiny for your family. He has an individual plan for each member, as well as a “corporate” purpose for you as a family unit. God will help you, as parents, to train each child toward God’s mission for his or her life, and He will help you to focus your family toward making a strong impact for His kingdom—in your community, in your church, in your children’s schools, and in the world.
The Bible says in Psalm 127:4, “Like arrows in the hand of a warrior, so are the children of one’s youth.” This verse recently “hit” me in a new way as I was attending a graduation party. During the evening, a group of church leaders, led by the graduate’s father, gathered to pray for this young man. He had been raised to have a fervent heart for God and for world missions, and we prayed for God’s purposes to be fulfilled. As I laid my hands on the graduate’s mom (my dear friend Karen), I could sympathize with her mixed feelings: happiness and pride combined with a sad realization that this season in their family’s life was coming to an end. As we prayed, I “saw” (in my mind’s eye) her eighteen-year-old son as a straight arrow in a bow. Afterward, I leaned over and whispered in my friend’s ear, “You know, Karen, it’s not enough just to aim our arrows; to hit the target we’ve got to release the string!”
As our children grow, there will be repeated times of releasing each one to God: letting go of a little hand as a baby takes that first wobbly step . . . letting go of total educational control as a child steps onto that school bus or enrolls in that first college course. Or what about that moment when we let go of the car keys and an eager teenager plops into the driver’s seat of our car and takes control of the steering wheel?
Sometimes it’s very scary.
As I write this chapter, my husband and I have a nearly twenty-year old son climbing a dangerous mountain and then the following week heading to Oxford, England for a summer-long study-abroad program. Our eighteen-year-old son just graduated from high school and will soon be moving to a university two thousand miles from home. Our nearly sixteen-year-old daughter is just about to get her driver’s license.
No matter how many times I have released my children, I continually need to rely on God’s fresh grace for today’s particular moment. Whether it’s dropping off a little one into the arms of a church nursery worker or dropping off a young adult at an international airport, I need to trust God.
Just like Hannah released her little Samuel, I have surrendered each child to the Lord; yet I still have times when God convicts me that I need to rely on Him even more. At a deeper level, I need to continue to trust Him. With faith, I need to trust that God will direct each of my kids to fulfill His purposes (without me pushing them to do what I want). I need to trust that God will bring just the right spouse for each of my sons and daughters (without me trying to make something happen). And I need to trust God that He will protect my children as they begin to step out to fulfill His destiny (without me worrying or trying to figure it out).
As I have thought about this need to totally release each of my children to God’s purposes, I have tried to imagine—in my own finite way—what our heavenly Father must have experienced when He released His Child. God never struggles, but I believe He can relate to my feelings (and yours). He too had to release His Son—His only Son—in order to fulfill His plans for this earth.
Imagine with me:
What if someday God called one of my children . . . let’s just say, for an example, to go on a summer mission trip to Calcutta, India?
Would I be able to send him or her with confidence and joy?
If my husband and I prayed about the particular outreach and God gave us His peace about it, I know I would. My husband and I would uphold our child in prayer, and we would trust God’s direction. And as a mom, I would rely on Him for grace.
But the sacrifice God made was far greater . . .
What if someday a child of ours decided to move to Calcutta, India, for perhaps ten months . . . or ten years . . . or even longer? Could I handle that?
That would be much harder.
Although it would be difficult to live so far apart, I would do my best to support him or her through regular prayer and communication (and I would definitely hope for e-mail access!). If my grown child had a family, I would really miss getting to know my child’s spouse and his or her family; and I can hardly imagine how much I would yearn for time with those future grandchildren. Yet, if God was calling my child, I would let my child go . . . and rely on Him for extra grace.
But God’s sacrifice was still far greater . . .
So, to take the analogy one step further, what if my husband and I, back in time about twenty years ago, were expecting our first child, and God told us that He wanted us to surrender this precious newborn—right from birth? What if God said He had chosen a poor couple in Calcutta, India, to raise our baby? What if He said our little one would grow up in some obscure squatter village . . . would live among filth and poverty . . . would spend his life helping people . . . and, in the end, would be rejected, hated, and brutally killed by the very people he was sent to help?
Would I send my son to do that? How could I?
But (perhaps) that is a glimpse of what God did for us.
If we are going to raise a generation of world changers, it is likely that we will need to surrender our children into areas that may make us uncomfortable. He could call our child to pioneer a megachurch in a crowded inner city or to raise a large, God-fearing family in a quiet rural town. He may want our child to impact a corrupt political system or to redirect a greed-motivated business. He could call our precious son to enlist in the military or our pure daughter to have an effect on the media. He could call our child to Cairo, Egypt . . . or to New York City . . . or maybe even to Calcutta, India.
As mission-minded parents, will we “let go” of those arrows and encourage each child to fulfill the Lord’s plans? Or will we be God’s greatest hindrance?
It’s a heart issue, and it’s big.
Just as God released His Son for us, we need to totally release each of our children—again and again, every day—for His eternal purposes.
Pursuing God’s Purposes
An excerpt from The Missions Addiction, by David Shibley.
We whine, “I just want to know my purpose; I’ve got to reach my destiny.” We race all over the country to attend “destiny conferences,” and we devour tapes and books on “reaching your full potential.” It would be amusing if it were not so appalling. Even cloaking our self-centeredness in Christian garb and jargon cannot cover the nakedness of this cult of self that has infested much of the church. How can we ever hope to discover our purpose in the earth with little or no interest in His purpose? How will we ever know our destiny when we have so little identification with God’s destiny for the nations? It certainly is good to pray, “Lord, what is Your will for my life?” But even this can be a self-absorbed prayer. It is far better to pray, “Lord, what is Your will for my generation? How do You want my life to fit into Your plan for my times?”
Pursuing God’s purposes, not our own, is the path to personal fulfillment.
We’ve a Story to Tell to the Nations
A missions hymn, by H. Ernest Nichol (1862–1928)
We’ve a story to tell to the nations,
That shall turn their hearts to the right,
A story of truth and mercy,
A story of peace and light,
A story of peace and light.
Chorus:
For the darkness shall turn to dawning,
And the dawning to noonday bright,
And Christ’s great kingdom shall come on earth,
The kingdom of love and light.
We’ve a song to be sung to the nations,
That shall lift their hearts to the Lord,
A song that shall conquer evil,
And shatter the spear and sword,
And shatter the spear and sword.
We’ve a message to give to the nations,
That the Lord who reigneth above
Hath sent us His Son to save us,
And show us that God is love,
And show us that God is love.
We’ve a Savior to show to the nations,
Who the path of sorrow hath trod,
That all of the world’s great peoples
May come to the truth of God,
May come to the truth of God!
Chorus:
For the darkness shall turn to dawning,
And the dawning to noonday bright,
And Christ’s great kingdom shall come on earth,
The kingdom of love and light.
“I have seen the Vision and for self I cannot live;
Life is less than worthless till my all I give.”
Oswald J. Smith
God has a destiny for your family. He has an individual plan for each member, as well as a “corporate” purpose for you as a family unit. God will help you, as parents, to train each child toward God’s mission for his or her life, and He will help you to focus your family toward making a strong impact for His kingdom—in your community, in your church, in your children’s schools, and in the world.
The Bible says in Psalm 127:4, “Like arrows in the hand of a warrior, so are the children of one’s youth.” This verse recently “hit” me in a new way as I was attending a graduation party. During the evening, a group of church leaders, led by the graduate’s father, gathered to pray for this young man. He had been raised to have a fervent heart for God and for world missions, and we prayed for God’s purposes to be fulfilled. As I laid my hands on the graduate’s mom (my dear friend Karen), I could sympathize with her mixed feelings: happiness and pride combined with a sad realization that this season in their family’s life was coming to an end. As we prayed, I “saw” (in my mind’s eye) her eighteen-year-old son as a straight arrow in a bow. Afterward, I leaned over and whispered in my friend’s ear, “You know, Karen, it’s not enough just to aim our arrows; to hit the target we’ve got to release the string!”
As our children grow, there will be repeated times of releasing each one to God: letting go of a little hand as a baby takes that first wobbly step . . . letting go of total educational control as a child steps onto that school bus or enrolls in that first college course. Or what about that moment when we let go of the car keys and an eager teenager plops into the driver’s seat of our car and takes control of the steering wheel?
Sometimes it’s very scary.
As I write this chapter, my husband and I have a nearly twenty-year old son climbing a dangerous mountain and then the following week heading to Oxford, England for a summer-long study-abroad program. Our eighteen-year-old son just graduated from high school and will soon be moving to a university two thousand miles from home. Our nearly sixteen-year-old daughter is just about to get her driver’s license.
No matter how many times I have released my children, I continually need to rely on God’s fresh grace for today’s particular moment. Whether it’s dropping off a little one into the arms of a church nursery worker or dropping off a young adult at an international airport, I need to trust God.
Just like Hannah released her little Samuel, I have surrendered each child to the Lord; yet I still have times when God convicts me that I need to rely on Him even more. At a deeper level, I need to continue to trust Him. With faith, I need to trust that God will direct each of my kids to fulfill His purposes (without me pushing them to do what I want). I need to trust that God will bring just the right spouse for each of my sons and daughters (without me trying to make something happen). And I need to trust God that He will protect my children as they begin to step out to fulfill His destiny (without me worrying or trying to figure it out).
As I have thought about this need to totally release each of my children to God’s purposes, I have tried to imagine—in my own finite way—what our heavenly Father must have experienced when He released His Child. God never struggles, but I believe He can relate to my feelings (and yours). He too had to release His Son—His only Son—in order to fulfill His plans for this earth.
Imagine with me:
What if someday God called one of my children . . . let’s just say, for an example, to go on a summer mission trip to Calcutta, India?
Would I be able to send him or her with confidence and joy?
If my husband and I prayed about the particular outreach and God gave us His peace about it, I know I would. My husband and I would uphold our child in prayer, and we would trust God’s direction. And as a mom, I would rely on Him for grace.
But the sacrifice God made was far greater . . .
What if someday a child of ours decided to move to Calcutta, India, for perhaps ten months . . . or ten years . . . or even longer? Could I handle that?
That would be much harder.
Although it would be difficult to live so far apart, I would do my best to support him or her through regular prayer and communication (and I would definitely hope for e-mail access!). If my grown child had a family, I would really miss getting to know my child’s spouse and his or her family; and I can hardly imagine how much I would yearn for time with those future grandchildren. Yet, if God was calling my child, I would let my child go . . . and rely on Him for extra grace.
But God’s sacrifice was still far greater . . .
So, to take the analogy one step further, what if my husband and I, back in time about twenty years ago, were expecting our first child, and God told us that He wanted us to surrender this precious newborn—right from birth? What if God said He had chosen a poor couple in Calcutta, India, to raise our baby? What if He said our little one would grow up in some obscure squatter village . . . would live among filth and poverty . . . would spend his life helping people . . . and, in the end, would be rejected, hated, and brutally killed by the very people he was sent to help?
Would I send my son to do that? How could I?
But (perhaps) that is a glimpse of what God did for us.
If we are going to raise a generation of world changers, it is likely that we will need to surrender our children into areas that may make us uncomfortable. He could call our child to pioneer a megachurch in a crowded inner city or to raise a large, God-fearing family in a quiet rural town. He may want our child to impact a corrupt political system or to redirect a greed-motivated business. He could call our precious son to enlist in the military or our pure daughter to have an effect on the media. He could call our child to Cairo, Egypt . . . or to New York City . . . or maybe even to Calcutta, India.
As mission-minded parents, will we “let go” of those arrows and encourage each child to fulfill the Lord’s plans? Or will we be God’s greatest hindrance?
It’s a heart issue, and it’s big.
Just as God released His Son for us, we need to totally release each of our children—again and again, every day—for His eternal purposes.
Pursuing God’s Purposes
An excerpt from The Missions Addiction, by David Shibley.
We whine, “I just want to know my purpose; I’ve got to reach my destiny.” We race all over the country to attend “destiny conferences,” and we devour tapes and books on “reaching your full potential.” It would be amusing if it were not so appalling. Even cloaking our self-centeredness in Christian garb and jargon cannot cover the nakedness of this cult of self that has infested much of the church. How can we ever hope to discover our purpose in the earth with little or no interest in His purpose? How will we ever know our destiny when we have so little identification with God’s destiny for the nations? It certainly is good to pray, “Lord, what is Your will for my life?” But even this can be a self-absorbed prayer. It is far better to pray, “Lord, what is Your will for my generation? How do You want my life to fit into Your plan for my times?”
Pursuing God’s purposes, not our own, is the path to personal fulfillment.
We’ve a Story to Tell to the Nations
A missions hymn, by H. Ernest Nichol (1862–1928)
We’ve a story to tell to the nations,
That shall turn their hearts to the right,
A story of truth and mercy,
A story of peace and light,
A story of peace and light.
Chorus:
For the darkness shall turn to dawning,
And the dawning to noonday bright,
And Christ’s great kingdom shall come on earth,
The kingdom of love and light.
We’ve a song to be sung to the nations,
That shall lift their hearts to the Lord,
A song that shall conquer evil,
And shatter the spear and sword,
And shatter the spear and sword.
We’ve a message to give to the nations,
That the Lord who reigneth above
Hath sent us His Son to save us,
And show us that God is love,
And show us that God is love.
We’ve a Savior to show to the nations,
Who the path of sorrow hath trod,
That all of the world’s great peoples
May come to the truth of God,
May come to the truth of God!
Chorus:
For the darkness shall turn to dawning,
And the dawning to noonday bright,
And Christ’s great kingdom shall come on earth,
The kingdom of love and light.
“I have seen the Vision and for self I cannot live;
Life is less than worthless till my all I give.”
Oswald J. Smith
Monday, November 17, 2008
Your Mission
I wanted to share our latest video clip from our summer trip to the Yucatan and Cuba. My daughter did the editing. We are planning another trip to the Yucatan in June so if this clip grips you, email me!
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
Jamaica opportunity
I have an opportunity to join a team going to Jamaica for a week in February. Bible quizzing is allowed (encouraged) in the public schools there and the team going to Jamaica will be facilitating their national tournament.
I'd appreciate your prayers as I consider this. I don't want my decision to be based on finances or even on my schedule, but on the Lord's plan. God asked me to pray about going but he hasn't made it clear yet if I'm actually to go! Thanks for praying.
I'd appreciate your prayers as I consider this. I don't want my decision to be based on finances or even on my schedule, but on the Lord's plan. God asked me to pray about going but he hasn't made it clear yet if I'm actually to go! Thanks for praying.
Friday, August 8, 2008
Over in Malta
People once saw illnesses cured and a man survive a poisonous snake bite on the island of Malta. If you'll take a peek at Acts 28, you can read the story, where Paul was shipwrecked on the island and spent three months there, along with all the people on the ship.
This was a ship of prisoners being escorted by Roman soldiers to Rome. They had started too late in the season and gotten caught by the winter storms, forcing them to stay at Malta until spring.
Shortly after the bedraggled group from the ship crawled ashore, Paul was bitten by a snake. In that pagan culture, such an event was evidence that Paul was some sort of evil person being punished by the gods. "Maybe he's a murderer," was the idea of the islanders. They assumed that, although he had survived the shipwreck, justice would be done anyway.
However, Paul lived and soon was invited into the home of Publius, the main landowner of the island. When Publius became ill with dysentery, Paul prayed for him and laid hands on him. Publius was healed.
During the three months that Paul was on the island of Malta, many others were healed as well. When the Roman entourage headed for Rome in the spring, the Maltans gave them many honors and send along all the provisions they'd need.
Knowing Paul, I am sure that he spent those three months telling the Maltans about Jesus. I suspect he left many believers behind when he sailed on to Rome.
I tell you this because my friend, Angela, is in Malta right now. She is part of a prayer team walking through the island and participating in the International Day of Prayer there. Please pray for her daily if you can.
There have been believers on Malta since the days of Paul, but these days I'm told their faith has tilted toward formal traditionalism with little life. Angela is on the front line there, trying to pierce that apathy. Let's support her with our prayers.
She'll be in Malta 10 days and will be posting updates to her blog. Please keep her in your prayers.
This was a ship of prisoners being escorted by Roman soldiers to Rome. They had started too late in the season and gotten caught by the winter storms, forcing them to stay at Malta until spring.
Shortly after the bedraggled group from the ship crawled ashore, Paul was bitten by a snake. In that pagan culture, such an event was evidence that Paul was some sort of evil person being punished by the gods. "Maybe he's a murderer," was the idea of the islanders. They assumed that, although he had survived the shipwreck, justice would be done anyway.
However, Paul lived and soon was invited into the home of Publius, the main landowner of the island. When Publius became ill with dysentery, Paul prayed for him and laid hands on him. Publius was healed.
During the three months that Paul was on the island of Malta, many others were healed as well. When the Roman entourage headed for Rome in the spring, the Maltans gave them many honors and send along all the provisions they'd need.
Knowing Paul, I am sure that he spent those three months telling the Maltans about Jesus. I suspect he left many believers behind when he sailed on to Rome.
I tell you this because my friend, Angela, is in Malta right now. She is part of a prayer team walking through the island and participating in the International Day of Prayer there. Please pray for her daily if you can.
There have been believers on Malta since the days of Paul, but these days I'm told their faith has tilted toward formal traditionalism with little life. Angela is on the front line there, trying to pierce that apathy. Let's support her with our prayers.
She'll be in Malta 10 days and will be posting updates to her blog. Please keep her in your prayers.
Tuesday, August 5, 2008
Thursday, July 31, 2008
Photos from Yucatan
Please enjoy a slide show of photos from our recent trip to the Yucatan peninsula. Next week, Cuba.
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