Category Archives: courage

choosing where to stand …

“You are not one of his disciples, are you?” the girl at the door asked Peter. He replied, “I am not.” It was cold, and the servants and officials stood around a fire they had made to keep warm. Peter also was standing with them, warming themselves. –John 18:17-18

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Standing with them. Near the fire. Warming himself with the temporal.

Why? Because Peter was cold. The chill in his heart permeated through to his bones, necessitating this human longing for warmth. The fire was dimming in his soul, and his flesh began to shake in recognition.

Peter had moved away from Jesus. And whenever a soul begins to move away from Jesus, the flesh takes over. The flesh compromises. The flesh warms itself next to a fire that will never satiate the chill within, only temporarily abate the chill without.

We should not warm our souls next to others who are only interested in warming their flesh. There’s not enough fire in that kind of fire to comfort the coldness growing within us. We should, however, warm our souls next to Jesus whose primary interest is our “within”—those attitudes, cravings, and behaviors of the heart that fix us to our eternal.

Let us be careful when choosing our fires this week. Whatever warms us … fills us. Whatever fills us … shapes us. And whatever shapes us spills out and over into the lives of those who stand next to us.

It only takes a spark to get a fire going. So choose wisely, friends. If your soul’s grown cold and your heart is losing ground, don’t stand next to “them.” Stand next to Jesus. His warmth, his fire, and his flame will never grow dim and will keep your soul ablaze with the truth and witness of his presence.

Won’t you come and warm your heart next to mine?

Standing with Jesus. Near his fire. Warming ourselves with the Eternal.

I’d like nothing more than to link arms with you as we make our stand with our Savior.

Peace for the journey,

on living the right question …

When I get to the end of all of this, when I reach the other side of the struggle that’s been weighing so heavily upon me, what do I want to see happen?

This is the question I keep asking myself. It’s the question that keeps me awake at night and barely functioning during the daytime. I scramble for answers, trying to manipulate the outcome, trying to fix a problem that is bigger than me. And I realize something in these early morning hours, really have some clarity about one important thing:

I’m not asking the right question.

“What do I want to see happen?” doesn’t get the job done. Instead, “What does God want to see happen?” seems the right fit for such a time as this.

I’ve been reading Dr. Tangumonkem’s words—a journey of simple yet profound faith. He’s my new friend, a beautiful grace from God in the midst of this ever changing saga known as my publishing debacle. We’ve done a book exchange of sorts as a way of encouraging each other in this time. From his pen he writes these words:

“The next time an opportunity presents itself before you and is more than your wildest imagination, do not get frozen in your tracks. Your boat is being rocked to loosen if from the shore so that you can move into deeper waters. Fear, worry, and anxiety are expected reactions, but do not allow them to prevent you from launching into the deep.” (from Coming to America, 2013, pg. 35)

He can write these words, because he knows them to be true. He has lived these words, one faithful step at a time. This is a man with a God-given dream, a God-given life. A man from Cameroon who never allows himself to live in the impossibilities of what God has called him to do but, instead, relies on the promises of God to make it happen. I marvel at his determined faith, and I am stretched to live accordingly.

I smile at his fortitude. Consider this man who, after being led by the Spirit of God about coming to America to further his education, saved his spare coins for an entire year so that he could pay the fee to take the GRE, thereby meeting one of the many requirements of God’s forward moving plan for his life. A year, people! Are you hearing me? A year’s worth of intentional saving so that he could take … wait for it … a test.

How different would our blessed United States of America be if we all had a similar passion and respect for furthering our education? We’ll drop a few hundred dollars on a new gadget without a second thought. Dr. Tangumonkem didn’t have that luxury and, instead, made this collection of coins his first thought, his second thought, his third, fourth, and fifth thought, one thought at a time until enough money had been saved so he could take a test. So that he could check that one requisite off of a very long list of requirements before seeing God’s dream come to pass. Again from his pen:

“Many dreams have died at inception because we focus on the lack of resources and the obstacles that oppose our onward match [sic] to fulfilling our dreams. This should not be the case, for if God is the initiator of the dream He will also make the dreams come true. … All you are required to do is believe and trust Him to lead you one step at a time. This is the one tried and true antidote that will put fear and unbelief out of business.” (from Coming to America, 2013, pg. 46).

Yes, friends, I’m asking the wrong question. Not “What do I want to see happen?” but rather “What does God want to see happen?”. This is yet to be determined. It is a matter far too big for me to get my mind around these days, my pocketbook as well. Re-publishing my manuscripts will be an expensive endeavor and one that I had not planned on. I think that God intends for me to take a page out of my new friend’s history.

I’ll trust God with the dream, and then I’ll save my spare change – even if it takes a year or two or whatever amount of time God determines to bring his conclusion to fruition. In the end, I just want to pass the test—this test of faith so that I might shine forth as gold, even as Dr. Tangumonkem shines forth as a beacon of hope for all of us in this time of sifting.

“But he knows the way that I take;

when he has tested me, I will come forth as gold.

My feet have closely followed his steps;

I have kept to his way without turning aside.

I have not departed from the commands of his lips;

I have treasured the words of his mouth more than my daily bread.”

–Job 23:10-12

 

Kept in peace,

PS: If you are interested in learning more about Dr. Tangumonkem’s Coming to America and how you might secure a copy, please click on the link above or contact him through his email – t[email protected]. I’m not sure how many copies he has left; there are nearly 2000 authors in a state of flux right now regarding our published work, but I’ll be happy to put you in touch with him.

The winner of Mark Buchanan’s The Rest of God is Sharon. Please be in touch with a mailing address, friend.

my Father’s world, not the government’s . . .

From where I’m sitting this morning, I see the witness of the changing season. The tree that hedges my bedroom window is beginning to sharpen in color, while surrendering a leaf to the wind every few minutes. I could stare at it for hours. What rich beauty there is in monitoring God’s creation! How foolish I’d be to try and override his seasonal preferences. How presumptuous I’d be to keep the beauty all to myself.

This is my Father’s world. One walks in dangerous territory when one tries to take the reins away from him.

When we try to manipulate God’s creation by cutting off access to an ocean or to the color of fall so brilliantly displayed in his mountains or even to the ground where men laid down their lives for freedom, we’re walking a dangerous line. When control becomes an issue, God takes issue.

Who are we to play games with his waters, his trees, his land? With his words he spoke them into existence. With his words he can easily remove them. What must he think of our posturing and our pride?

How foolish we are. How bold we’ve become. Little gods running around, idols fresh off the assembly line from the factory of Man Knows Best, all the while under the watchful eyes of the God who knows best and who must (if he is prone to laughter and tears) both chuckle and cry at the absurdity of it all.

He is not unfamiliar with this script. He’s read it before, seen it play itself out on the stage of history time and again. Man trying to control one another; man trying to control God. And while the former might actually come to fruition on occasion, the latter will fail every time. Man cannot take away from God what has always belonged to him.

This is my Father’s world. And while our view of it might currently be limited by barricades and police officers, God sees it all. No one, no law, no amount of power and pride can block his view. From his vantage point, it is clear what we’ve become.

We’re no longer one nation under One God but, instead, many nations serving many gods. Let’s be honest. Let’s call it for what it is. We’re a fractured people, broken down and woefully off track from our beginnings.

I cannot change the climate in our nation’s capital today, any more than I can amend the hearts of mankind. But I can pray for the climate and amendment of my own heart, and I can do so while surrounded by the seasonal witness of a fall tree that isn’t affected by the seasonal shifts of man’s need to control it.

Together, the tree and I and our Creator will work it through. It’s enough to carry me forward, maybe even enough to carry you as well. If you’re feeling overwhelmed by the foolishness of man today, might I encourage you to find a window view or find an undisturbed, unmonitored path in your community and take a walk with the Father in his world? What you will find there will make sense to your heart and bring peace to your spirit.

May the rich and certain witness of fall be the rich and certain witness of God’s enduring, unchanging, and formidable strength in your life. He sees from above what man is trying to prevent from below. Nothing can block us from his view.

Peace for the journey,

A Survivor Lives Here

“Once more a remnant of the house of Judah will take root below and bear fruit above. For out of Jerusalem will come a remnant, and out of Mount Zion a band of survivors.” (2 Kings 19:30-31)

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I attached the purple ribbon to my mailbox as a reminder to myself:

A survivor lives here.

It feels slightly self-indulgent, putting the focus on me. A season ago, I displayed these ribbons in honor of loved ones who journeyed the cancer road, but this year I boldly make this declaration on my behalf because I’m taking my own advice … practicing what I so bravely proclaim.

Being a survivor isn’t about defeating the disease. Being a survivor is about defeating the silence that often attaches itself to the disease.

For me, this has become a rallying cry of sorts. I emphasized it again yesterday during the morning messages at Saint Luke’s annual Relay for Life service. It’s one of the main reasons I agreed to speak. You see, there’s a silence that has been settling in on my spirit for the past several months.

Sometimes, silence is a good thing, a golden kind of thing. I remember my 9th grade English teacher writing in my yearbook, “If silence is golden, Elaine, you can forget it!” I also remember my daddy telling me, “Elaine, not every thought you’re thinking needs to be verbalized.” I knew what they meant. In hindsight, I celebrate their words, because I fully understand the intent behind them. They represent life—a living, breathing witness of a young girl who wasn’t afraid to be heard and to err on the side of verbal expression. It’s been a delicate dance these past forty-seven years, learning when to speak and when to keep silent.

But what about those times when silence isn’t golden, when words should be spoken but, instead, remain buried, hidden beneath layers of self-doubt? Prolonged silence can become a breeding ground for destructive behaviors rather than a resting place for instructive growth. I recognize these dangers, and so I made a choice to use my words on Sunday morning and on this Monday morning. Not just any words, but words that have been bathed in grace and baptized in prayers for God to use them, once more, to move the kingdom forward. To move my heart forward.

Maybe today you’re stuck in your silence. A soul-eating something has taken its toll on your witness. Your voice no longer boasts the confidence of your sacred endowment. No purple bows tied to the mailbox. No holy proclamations tied to your lips. Instead, drop-dead silence. You’re at a loss for words, and your survivorship seems in question.

I hear you. Your silence couldn’t be clearer.

Today is the day to start talking again, start putting words to your struggle, thereby putting words to your faith. Pick up the phone, pick up the pen, pick up a friend, and pick up a bow. Tie it on the mailbox, tie it on your computer, tie it on your lips, or tie it on your heart. Let the whole world know that …

A survivor lives here.

A soul-survivor. A woman, a man living each day with the Soul-Creator, Soul-Stirrer, Soul-Lover, Soul-Keeper … Jesus Christ.

“Once more a remnant of the house of Judah will take root below and bear fruit above.”

Today might be the beginning of your once more. Break the silence within and watch your roots grow deeper into the soil of God’s kingdom garden. Our Father will not waste your witness. Our Father intends to cultivate it for his glory and his renown. Your survivorship is not in question. Your survivorship remains safe and is certain in his hands.

Keep to it, soul-survivors. Our best days are in front of us. As always …

Peace for the journey,

faith meets life . . .

 

I listen to their voices as they herald their morning choruses. Songs of faith. Melodies written in antiquity, yet music still breathing the living witness of God.

I hear them recite their morning verses. Words of faith. Scripture written in antiquity, yet truth still breathing the living witness of God.

My children are working their faith through with the help of our homeschool curriculum. What joy to hear these sounds again! Something about the rocks crying out resonates in my spirit. What I have forgotten to do … what I have often chosen not to do resurfaces in my son and daughter. This is good habit. This is music to my soul.

And my mind wanders across the sea to others who are doing the same—heralding their morning choruses and reciting their morning verses, despite great persecution. My brothers and sisters in Christ living out their faith on the front-lines in Egypt. This is when it counts for them—when faith works itself out in their flesh … literally. The surrenders being made there cannot be measured by statistics. Not really. Instead, this kind of surrender can only be measured by the heart.

True worship. Authentic praise. Unparalleled obedience. Unwavering trust. Faith on the front-lines of the battlefield named Persecution.

This is the life of a Christian in Egypt today. Great strain coupled with great faith.

Is this the life of a Christian in rural North Carolina today? Is there anything great about the strain and faith in my life? Is there anything great about yours?

Each and every day we wake up to the battlefield named Life. Accordingly, we have some choices to make.

How will we worship?

How will we praise?

How will we obey?

How will we trust?

If our faith was placed on the front-lines of the battlefield named Persecution, how would we stand?

I’m thinking there’s a great deal more to this suffering than my mind can comprehend, a lot of refining attached to hard choices made on the front-lines and in the face of certain, painful consequences.

Perhaps, this is when faith shines brightest. My brothers and sisters in Egypt may not be able to see the light from where they’re standing today, but I see their flame from where I’m crouching in rural North Carolina. Their candles burn brightly; their faith shines surely. Certainly, it is enough to strengthen weak hands, fortify feeble knees, and straighten the paths that our faith is living upon this day (Heb. 12:10-13).

Songs of faith. Words of faith. Antiquity made new again in my heart this morning. Here on the battlefield named Life. There on the battlefield named Persecution. Faith lived in between and among us.

From rural North Carolina across the sea to Egypt and everywhere along the way, light the candle of faith, friends. Keep it burning. We need one another. As always …

Peace for the journey,

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