How deep the Father’s love for us, how vast beyond all measure
That He should give His only Son to make a wretch His treasure
How great the pain of searing loss, the Father turns His face away
As wounds which mar the Chosen One bring many sons to glory

Behold the man upon a cross, my sin upon His shoulders
Ashamed I hear my mocking voice call out among the scoffers
It was my sin that held Him there until it was accomplished
His dying breath has brought me life – I know that it is finished

I will not boast in anything, no gifts no power no wisdom
But I will boast in Jesus Christ, His death and resurrection
Why should I gain from His reward; I cannot give an answer
But this I know with all my heart; His wounds have paid my ransom

This is an amazingly powerful song.
I just wanted to share it with you.

Wow, it’s been a while since I last put in an entry. No, I have not fallen off the face of the planet. I was given the challenging task of planning a disaster relief trip to New Orleans after our leader had a change of plans. I had a week to get most of the trip organized prior to leaving. I am happy to report that despite the stresses and complete flip-flop of “my plan” over God’s divine will, all went well. Yes, the trip was exhausting. Yes, my body aches from the labor. Yes, my brains as maxed out and everything I had was seemingly sucked from my between leading to working to participating. But I honestly can tell you that I would do it all over again. I saw some amazingly hard things and I still have a lot of it to process. But rest and time will aid in my recovery.

I have two stories from today to share with you.

#1. I helped out in the 2nd and 3rd grade Sunday school classroom this morning at Apex. We met together with the other Sunday school classes to hear some words from God’s word from Phil Depp. Prior to getting settled we played a “fill in the time until all the students arrive and Phil gets here” game in order to keep the children from killing each other.

“I’m going to say something that’s bad that can happen here on earth and you tell me some way that God can make it a good experience,” the “big kid” teacher spoke above the restless crowd. Everyone quieted down and waited with eager anticipation.
“A snow day. Well, even if you don’t think a snow day is bad. But you have a snow day and you don’t get to go to school,” She began the game.
Hands shot up into the air awaiting acknowledgment.
“You could shovel the old man’s driveway from next door.” Offered Ethan after he was called on.
“Excellent! That’s a great way to show Jesus inside of you.”
A few more students were called on and then a second situation was proposed.
“Ok, how about if your mom makes a dinner and she’s been working on it for a very long time and she burns it or she makes something you don’t like,” the mother spoke from within this teacher.
Only a few hands rose while confused and troubled faces filled the crowd.
“Yes, Clay.”
“You could refuse to eat it,” the small boy offered.
“Hmm… I don’t know if that’s making the situation good…” the teacher continued on to the next child.
“Yes, Aleck.”
“You could go into the kitchen and make something yourself.” He spoke proudly and confidently that his answer was supreme, afterall he attained the surpassing wisdom of a huge third grader.
“Well, maybe you could offer to make something. Not just walk into the kitchen and start cooking, but you could offer to help make something else.” The teacher attempted to tweak the child’s answer.
“Yes, Bret.” The teacher’s voice was a bit more fearful as she called on the little girl with the knowledgeable smile on her face.
“Well, you could tell mommy, ‘Mommy, I have tried that before and I’ve put it on my tongue and my taste buds in the past haven’t like it and I know my taste buds and they tell me that I still won’t like it, so I’ll eat a little, but maybe can I have something else in a little bit?” she grinned from ear to ear, confident in her response.

All us teachers choked down our laughter. Even Phil, who had now entered the room, struggled to keep a straight face.

#2. I’ve been asked to watch a small handful of little ones while their parents go to a class between the two church services on Sundays. I was overjoyed to discover that I had Kylie and Avery today for the Getting Started kids. I had the two of them a little while ago for Homechurch leadership training and I looked forward to watching them again this morning. Kylie smiled her little four year old shy smile and said, “I haven’t seen you in a long while.”
“I know, Kylie, I’ve missed you,” came my response. She smiled, twirling her leopard-print dress.
We went to Kidstown (a family-oriented children’s production filled with singing, dancing and Bible lessons). I love Kidstown and often go to watch it despite the fact that I #1. am not a kid and #2. don’t have kids. I have a few friends who are involved in the Kidstown joys, so it’s neat to see them serving the Body of Christ.
Avery decided that his two-year-old self would do well sitting next to Kylie on the floor of the theatre. I personally was concerned for the petite child when I saw his look of near-overload on his little face. After a few moments on the floor, he decided my lap was safer. Kylie jumped and participated in the regular Kidstown craze, while Avery clung to my arm. When the excitement seemed to calm down Avery suddenly remembered that Mom was not with him and turned to me with tears in his eyes, “I want mommy….” he mumbled as he pressed his face into my shirt.
“It’s okay, baby. We’ll see her in a little bit. We get to watch Kidstown with Kylie. Yeah!” I attempted to lean on the Kidstown excitement once more.
“Mommy, mommy, mommy….” he began to work himself further into a frenzy.
I held him close, cradling him like a baby, “Oh, but Kidstown is so fun, look, there’s a girl in a yellow skirt,” I played into the art of distraction. Avery quickly took his head from my shirt and looked up onstage. He was captivated once more in all the excitement, especially the girl in the yellow skirt.
Periodically Avery turned to me and shared his attachment anxiety with me through various “mommy” outbursts. So I began to watch the child for warning signs. At the slightest hesitation or slightest change of his stature, I’d rub his back or narrate whatever was going on onstage. That was all he needed to feel loved and prepared to sit quietly once again.

I think I’m like that sometimes; maybe more often then I’d like to admit. When I’m in an uncomfortable situation or a situation that I flat out don’t want to be in, I desire to feel someone’s hand on my back or someone’s kind words in my ear. It’s not because I am needing a narrator of the situation. But in the gentle encouragement, I feel that someone else is supporting me. It’s not that God has abandoned me or that I’m throwing the towel in on the whole situation. It’s just the comfort and support of someone else wanting to be there with me, even in the fix.

That same feeling overcame me this past week while in New Orleans so I called my best friend.

I was looking for that hand on my back… an encouragement to keep fighting.

Thanks again, Kelly.

Guess Avery and I have something in common.

Philosophy 472 has been an interesting class filled with what seems like meaningless arguing over ways of thinking about stuff. We’ve been reading from a book that seems to swim in circles over every topic it addresses. It’s quite interesting to watch the author disprove his own theories while attempting to persuade the readers to adopt his thinking at the same time. It just seems like the whole class is built on elevated scientific terminology that boils down to the same conclusion, “we really have no answers for any questions that we ask.” So my question for all those social scientists and philosopherists is… what is the purpose of your profession?

We ended the last chapter’s powerpoint presentation yesterday. The final powerpoint slide that concluded all the information we have learned for the past ten weeks stated all the things we already knew coming into the course; “We can’t study anything without making up our minds about what it is we are studying”, “Your view will make some things important and some things unimportant,” and “Your view will have social, personal, economic and political consequences.” One of the final sentences read as follows:

I chuckled as I read it again, this time omitting one part,

Sheer brilliance!

Have you ever been caged? Have you ever felt like you were compelled to fail? A kleptomaniac, can’t help but steal; in fact, stealing becomes his identity. An idolater identifies himself by the many gods that he worships to the point where asking him to stop worshiping gods would be the very end of who he knows himself to be. An alcoholic finds no pleasure but from drinking; he cannot control himself, drinking defines who he is. One trapped in the cage of lust finds that physical pleasure consumes their mind and they can’t control their drives; their drives control them. They are all caged. They are all compelled to slip into their same cycle over and over again. They have no hope of ever changing. They have lost their power to control their own lives.

I’ve been there, maybe not in every place mentioned, but I’ve been there. And please don’t make the assumption that I am speaking from a “before the cross” stance. Before the cross I struggled with just as much sin as I do now. See, it’s like that continual truth that if you place a man back in his same environment, the same things will tempt him as did before. You can take a child from a playroom in the midst of their play, but when you return them to the playroom, they will play with the same toys in the playroom. Nothing has changed in the room. But let’s say, for example, that you tell the child when you are outside of the playroom that all things that are red toys are good playthings and blue toys are bad. Do you think that’ll change the way they play? Sure it will. Depending on the child, they will either play with red things more often or blue things more often.

So here I am, this side of the cross, in the same playroom, and I am trying hard to incorporate more red things into my play and less blue things. But do you know what’s hard? I really got used to playing with blue toys. I really got used to foiling to temptation. I really got used to rebelling and disobeying. And sometimes, I even feel like I can’t help it. I feel like I’m caged. I feel like death has overcome me. I feel like I’m compelled to slip into my same cycle over and over again. I feel like I have no hope of ever changing. I feel like I have lost my power to control my own life. And that’s when it hits me… I have. It’s not my life. It’s not my power, but Christ’s that lives within me.

That’s why those lyrics mean so much to me…

I have died with Christ. I have risen with Christ. So because of Christ I can speak with the power and authority of Christ. I can say to the controller, “You have been defeated!” I can say to the cager, “You cannot contain me!” To the hope of ever changing, “I have changed, I will change!” To that cycle of sin, “You have been broken! You do not predict my response anymore!” To death, “You have lost! You have no power over me! You have lost!”

Truly with the power and authority of Christ in my voice,

He has, He is and He will forever conquer death… from the grave.

It’s been a long time since I’ve written. I’m really supposed to be writing my two papers that are due next week. (One is due on Monday and the other one on Thursday.) But I wanted to pop online here for two reasons: 1. because I’m stalling and 2. because I have something really cool to tell you.

Now I take into consideration that this could totally label me as a dork, but I really found great curiosity and joy in this… tonight while in goodwill, I found a book from 1902. SERIOUSLY! How cool is that?! Don’t look at me like that, I know deep down inside you’re excited. No but seriously, think about it, that book was around before my Grandpa. That book was around before anyone that I’ve ever met was born. I wondered, as I looked at that book, what stories did the book have. Now, it was an old algebra book, so I’m sure the stories were not “fun” per say (hehe) but I wondered who’s hands had held this book. The mystery was so neat. I even thought about buying it, just so I could think more upon the mystery. Yes, I know that totally labels me a dork. But I guess I just really like history.

I have really gotten into the old fashioned “right living,” morally sound lifestyle. No, I’m not saying that the same issues that are popping up today did not occur back then. And no, I’m not saying everyone lived their lives the “right way”. And no, I’m not saying they were perfect. But when you paint the real picture of life in the past, when you open your mind to embracing the goods and the bads of the entire historical society, and then you find those individuals in that society that were so dedicated and devoted to family, love and their God, that is so… so… I really just can’t find the word. To have such dedication to all members of family, making the family what it was originally designed to be, or at least fighting as hard as you could to do likewise is so right. (For lack of a better word.) To genuinely love another, not with a skyrocketing divorce-rate love, but a “I’m going to be here for the rest of your life” love because 1. I am honoring my God and 2. life fits right with you, is so right. And to find a dedication that produces bold obedience, extreme devotion, strict rejection of sinful behaviors/lifestyles, and radically sound teaching of further generations is just so right. Maybe I’m just old fashioned, but I really do believe there is a right way to live. Yes you can pick initially from right and wrong, but I beg to differ with most in believing that once you make the initial choice to do right, there’s another choice of right and wrong to be made. Continually choices of right will lead you to a stronger devotion, a stronger love and a stronger belief in the Most High God. You may choose right for once in your life on Salvation day, but the work has only begun. There is no coach-potato time. If we ever stop choosing right we will become lazy and tolerate those evil things that used to be so wrong before. We will begin to get used to evil desires, covets, and lusts. We will allow dulled disrespect, perverse speech, and casual infidelity until it runs wild through the streets screaming of hardened hearts and deaf ears!

But right… we really need right. Because wrong. Wrong is so wrong. It devours us until we no longer control ourselves but are controlled by our wrong impulses. We really do need right.

Let us learn right from True examples. Whether 1902 or 2006, may our examples truly teach of right experience, right obedience, right devotion, right love, and right lifestyles.

Yes! May we learn Right from True examples.