More Stamps in The Passport

Potential

2010-08-23T18:20:00.000-07:00

Someone complemented me the other day in a way that I don’t think I’d ever heard before. The words were simple, but the meaning is something that I’ve been praying to be realized for many months or even years.

In May I applied for and was offered a job working at a Jewish Community Center for their Summer Day-Camp program. It turned out to be an incredible job that seemed almost too good to be true. I basically spent ten weeks singing songs with kids, playing games, learning about Israel, going on cool field trips, going swimming, learning some Hebrew words and having a lot of fun all while getting paid for it. Of course every job has it’s ups and downs and there were definitely moments I questioned what I was doing, but more than that it was an incredible opportunity to reach into an area of society I would probably never normally be able to reach.

I had different groups that I was assigned to for different sessions. My first group was about 24 second and third graders. They were a lot of fun as they were usually very engaged and eager to be involved. The second group was some older kids grades 4,5 and 6. They were a little bit more of a challenge as the group was so diverse. There were little petite fourth graders playing dodgeball next to big sixth graders. The third group was first graders who had all kinds of wiggles and energy and all I could think of with this group was Controlled Mayhem. My fourth group was a big mix of grades and we were a sand sculpture group that had the tough job of going to the beach everyday to learn how to make sand sculptures. The last group was a big group of 2nd and 3rd graders whose names I finally figured out near the end of the session.

Lots of names and faces. Lots of lives and hearts and dreams and potential. I had an opportunity the very last day of camp to address the entire group of campers. It was part of the morning skit and I knew that in that moment I had a chance to either make them laugh, or speak to their hearts… I chose both.

I stood before them without any costume or anything to hide who I was. I introduced myself as Matthew, a Head Counselor for one of the groups. I told them that I had been there all Summer and wanted to share something very important with them. I told them that even though we dress silly and act crazy sometimes, there are also times that it’s ok to just be who we are. That each of them has something inside of them called potential. The ability to do or become anything they want.

Somewhere along the timeline of our lives we go from becoming dreamers to becoming doers. But it’s not always that we’re doing what we dreamed of. Ask a child what they want to be when they grow up and you’ll hear some big ideas and you’ll see some eyes sparkle. And then somewhere along the line we’re told we’re not smart enough, good enough, tall enough, pretty enough, funny enough, fast enough, etc. etc. etc. Or a list of other things. Somewhere along the road we stop dreaming.

And so for just a moment, I told the kids not to stop dreaming. That even though we may pretend sometimes to be something we’re not, it’s ok to be who we are and continue dreaming.

One of the counselors and I were talking a while after the camp. We both agreed about how incredible it would be to be able to catch up with some of these kids after five or ten years. I’m sure they will have forgotten names and faces and speeches and encouragement we gave them. But hopefully, just maybe, they will remember to keep dreaming and to keep being just the way their Father created them.

As I walked to the car that last day of camp, one of the few other Christian staff members said simply “I think you were the salt of the camp”.

That’s my prayer, almost everyday I go, that I would have a spirit of wisdom and discernment and be salt and light in the dark places.

My journey has taken a turn. I applied and was accepted to Army Officer Candidate School. I leave Tuesday the 24th of August to begin a new season and chapter. I’ll be working in the Army Reserves in a Civil Affairs unit near my home in San Jose. I continue to pray for a spirit of wisdom and discernment and to be light in dark places as I learn to lead men and women, some of whom have forgotten how to dream.

The LORD shall go forth like a mighty man; He shall stir up His zeal like a man of war. He shall cry out, yes, shout aloud; He shall prevail against His enemies.
Is. 42:13

Thanks for reading.

Room for you

2010-04-13T22:38:00.000-07:00

It’s taken a little more than a month to be able to settle on words that will inadequately describe recent events. And yet even a month seems that it won’t do justice to the new emotions that will continue to haunt the back reaches of my mind and thoughts. Something moves in the shadows of my heart that still hasn’t found the light of explanation, yet I’m compelled to try to express the beauty of it all.

Words and songs and phrases fail in my desperate need to bring some kind of summary of what’s happened. In school I was taught to analyze culture and people groups and to put them in categories or summarize their thoughts and behaviors. I try desperately to somehow find conclusions that are simply not there.

9:07am March 11th. Our world was colored with wonder and amazement. I remember some of my first thoughts and reactions as I entered the small delivery room. But many of them were too sudden or too fractured or too unexplainable to be able to try in a simple page to describe. Here, lying in a small bed was a new life, one untainted by worry or fear or doubt. This small life was carrying hope, joy, love, peace, destiny, purpose and biggest of all: intention.

4:07pm April 11th. I whisper songs of the Father into her sleeping ears, yet my words and sentences never complete as tears fill my ears and my throat tightens. How is it that she’s captured my heart in only one month? How is it that a life so small and fragile can move your heart to beyond words or explanation? How is it that she can rest so fully in arms of safety and security without being aware of where she is? How is it that I sometimes forget that I too can find my rest and security in my Fathers arms?

I smile in wonder at how she can sleep so completely while just beyond her reach the world seems out of control or in disarray and confusion. Yet not here, not with her. She closes her eyes and knows nothing of the troubles of life. When was the last time I rested like that? When was the last time I fell asleep and let myself dream in my Fathers arms? When was the last time I realized that my problems only seem big when my view of my Father is small?

Your Father sings over you Violet. He proclaims songs in unity with your heart. He declares songs that will give you character, emotions, skills, talents and personality. He shouts songs of destiny and divine calling; to be a daughter who walks in authority of her heritage as a releaser of captives and a provider of life.

There is room for you here Violet. Your life is most welcome in our world and in our hearts. There is purpose for your life and your breath and there is a need for your beauty on the earth. Your steps will not be missed, your words will not go unheard, your songs will not go unwritten and your heart will not go unguarded.

I the Lord, have called you in righteousness; I will take hold of your hand.
I will keep you and will make you to be a covenant for the people
and a light for the Gentiles.
Is. 42:6

Thanks for reading

Alamere Falls

2010-01-26T12:46:00.001-08:00

The falls from above
Originally uploaded by tynemann

alamere falls

2010-01-26T12:33:00.000-08:00

rain

A necessary ingredient for life, yet sometimes an unwanted ally. I walked through over five miles of it yesterday in search of something. Not sure I found what I was after but something definitely found me.

slogged

I wasn’t sure that was a word until today when I noticed my computer didn’t try to fix the spelling. I thought I had invented the word yesterday when puddle after puddle muddled my pants and shoes. Should have been more prepared.

muddled

Just realized that is also a word.

meander

I had set off quite hastily in the morning with only a few snacks, a GPS, my running shoes, a camera and a slightly hazy idea of where I was going. I hadn’t been there in probably seven years. But it wasn’t just my desire to go that was drawing me, there was something else.

romanced

The high cliffs and waves pounding the coast make for an incredible backdrop to the 5.5 mile hike to Wildcat campground. The last two weeks of rain and yesterdays forecast of more rain and wind made the journey even more adventurous. The drive takes you through parts of San Francisco, across the Golden Gate, along winding coastal highways, through small sleepy beach towns and finally to Point Reyes National Seashore. The park has multiple access points which means you should probably have a good idea of where you’re going before you end up at the visitor center realizing you missed your point of interest fifteen miles ago. Not that I learned from experience, but that’s just what I’ve heard.

As you drive down the dead-end road you pass some grazing areas for animals and a Coast Guard communication base. Although it’s more just a small building tucked into the hill, the building is surrounded by big radio towers and things that look like they are monitoring a lot more than just the tides. At the very end of the road you come to Palomarin Trailhead. From here you begin the journey that will separate men from boys. This was where I found myself.

At about two minutes into the walk I stopped suddenly and stared at the trail. There before me lay a large muddy puddle that completely covered the path. I realized quickly that I had completely worn the wrong shoes and I would be better off just getting into the car and going back home where it was warm and less windy and less rainy. However, something deeper inside me said to find a way through. So I did. I passed by the left side of the puddle through some sticker bushes and some of the less sloggy parts of the trail. Once past that I figured the rest should be easier. I need to stop trying to figure.

The trail is steep at points, rocky at points, covered in water at points, slippery, wet, dark, dangerous, etc. The very beginning of the trail warns you of mountain lions in the area. So I quickly began talking out loud to warn any would be ‘attackers-of-hikers’ that I was approaching. The trail I was looking for was an un-maintained trail that was so overgrown the branches and bushes are scraping up against you as you walk through. It’s a well-worn dirt path but no one goes and cuts back the under or overgrowth. So basically after you’ve made it through the main trail about three miles, you veer off towards the waterfall and into the difficult part. When you finally get to the waterfall you can’t actually see it unless you scramble down the eroded dirt cliffs to the ocean. On the chance something bad did happen to me, I realized I hadn’t explained very well where I was going which means no one would start looking for me for at least another five hours. So as courageous as I was, I decided not to venture into the deep ravine cut out by the recent rains and erosion. The waterfall was nice to look at. The hill I was perched atop was neat. The wind that almost, literally almost blew me over was interesting. But there was something else there that day that really caught my feelings.

nudge

I’m not sure if that’s the best way to even describe it. But that’s kind of what it felt like. A nudge by a friend to get my attention. Someone just simply saying, hey. I think on Facebook we call it a poke. Kind of weird but I think God had poked at me. Not a super poke, or throwing chickens or practicing karate or whatever all those other things are. Just a hand on the shoulder kind of thing that makes you realize you’re appreciated and cared for. A nudge. Before I had even reached the waterfall, I found myself walking along the trail and feeling that I had been brought here for Him to take His caring hand and shine my heart up a bit. Almost a nudge on my heart that makes you shiver in a good way. I think it was His way of expressing love. And it felt really good.

today

My legs hurt. It’s still raining and I’m remembering the last few moments of the adventure. I made it back to the car. Took a picture of my muddy shoes and pants. Took off my wet raincoat and sat down to eat my poppy seed muffin. Much to my dismay it was a little past due so I drove home hungry. Yet for some reason the commuter traffic, the lack of food, the wet muddy shoes, wet socks and feet, the continual rain, the bad drivers and the long drive home didn’t seem to matter that much. For something of a much greater nature had happened that day. I had been nudged by my creator. And it made me happy.

thanks

for reading

"Certainly spending just one day in your temple courts is better than spending a thousand elsewhere. I would rather stand at the entrance to the temple of my God than live in the tents of the wicked"
Ps. 84:10

Cooking Utensils

2009-10-13T05:25:00.000-07:00

While I’ve never been much of a great creative genius when it comes to cooking; I am partially able to tell the difference between teaspoons and tablespoons, the difference between baking soda and baking powder and the difference between forks and spoons. Although there are still a few items and techniques that I don’t understand, somehow I find myself researching meat tenderizers.

It seems that it can be multiple different things from an enzyme, which breaks down the connections of the proteins in the peptide bonds that blah blah blah… Or other options which include a hammer or an old cudgel like instrument that you use to beat-down a steak with. Still other options include a small gadget that looks like an “As Seen on TV” special. It has multiple blades on it and you use it repeatedly to pulverize a harmless pork roast. Regardless of which option someone chooses, the result usually comes out the same: a beat-down, helpless and surrendered, tenderized piece of meat. Which is about the correct definition of my heart.

A few months ago I got a surprising yet short phone call. My brother who’s been married for over four years now called to tell me my sister-in-law is pregnant and due in March. As this seems to be a very natural part of the marriage, growing-up and continuing the human species type event, I was kind of prepared for the day that I would get that call. However during a recent trip home something was very different about the whole event and how our family would be changing. The enzyme had started working.

Now the obvious part of the whole thing, which was explained to me recently when I related this story, is that because she’s pregnant she’ll start to have a little bump for a stomach. Which I guess I wasn’t really ready for until they met us for dinner one night. Suddenly the reality of my mom’s grandma status, my extended uncle status and the weirdest part of Micah being a Dad helped continue this strange tenderizing process. I think it was the cudgel.

A few days later as I’m driving and thinking about the new baby I start getting all glossy and watery eyed. (I had the windows open so it could’ve been some dust or a bug or something that just happened to get into both eyes at the exact same time) But I think it was something much deeper. I felt God opening my heart to an understanding and to feeling love and connection to someone that I’d never felt before. I began realizing that this small child that’s not even born yet, probably doesn’t even weigh as much as my wallet, has somehow captured my heart already. Somehow this young life is introducing me to a new way of knowing God’s love. It was definitely the hammer.

“Your heart is being tenderized” my Pastor told me recently as I related this story to him. I hadn’t thought of that. I had come home from the visit feeling that now more than ever I wanted to move back to California so I could be a part of this event. So I could be there when it happens, not actually be THERE in the delivery, but to be around. A life is being brought into the world and not that it hasn’t ever happened before to anyone else in the world, but for some reason this pregnant lady is different. For some reason God has taken all these cooking utensils and begun to unlock new places and new understandings of not only what love means, but also to continue capturing my heart for Him. The movement of His spirit isn’t so much focused on my physical location, but focused more on the status of my heart.

Whatever feelings of love, excitement, connection, anticipation or whatever else I’m feeling, I’m beginning to see that the only reason I’m able to feel or experience this is because a Creator placed it there. While made in His image, we must also be made in His likeness, which would then lead me to believe that we also carry His emotions.

What other avenues or areas is God waiting to open or explore in our hearts? How much more of Him can we begin to experience as we experience life and just let Him move in us? Is it really possible for God to love us and like us even more than we’ll even be able to know?

And yes of course I’ll be a good uncle who appropriately spoils this kid. Maybe not with all kinds of material possessions or things, but maybe I can spoil her or him with an unlocked place in my heart full of love, affection, encouragement and amazement. With how much I feel is in there, I wonder if it’s even possible for God to have more.

The Lord has appeared of old to me, saying:
Yes I have loved you with an everlasting love;
Therefore with lovingkindness I have drawn you.
Jer. 31:3

Ziplocked Legos

2009-05-08T20:33:00.000-07:00

I’d like to say that many years ago as I was growing up I used to play and build with Legos. Being truthful though I’d have to add that even today there are still a few sets to be found laying in various parts of the house with a bin full of them in the garage. My brothers and I would strategically place castle, medieval and pirate characters around a base or a fortress of some kind. Like they say “You can take a kid away from Legos, but you can’t take Lego’s away from a kid…” Or something like that.

Tonight after I locked up the church ministry center I got a phone call. One of the fellow staff members was hoping I was still inside and hadn’t left yet. Unfortunately I said, I’m already on my way home just heading out of the parking lot. “Is everything ok?” I asked. As it turned out a small meltdown was taking place.

Apparently one of the young kids that night had left his Ziploc bag full of Legos in the church and the lady was wondering if we were still in the building to check for them. I’m sure she had gotten a call from a mom who was trying to console a panicked kid about his (or her) favorite Lego collection. At the time I was already leaving and was advised not to worry about it, that she would call one of the other staff members to see if she had found the missing multi-colored bricks.

I guess I kind of laughed a little at the thought of the kid at home having a “meltdown” about some toys. Here it is past ten-o-clock at night and I’m sure he’s sitting up in bed in his pajamas crying his eyes out. Amazing the importance these small toys have on his life.

And then of course, in God’s simple and gently ways, the spotlight is turned on me.

Tonight, for a second week in a row, one of our pastors read from Haggai 2:7. If you had asked me three weeks ago whether Haggai was a book in the Bible, I would’ve had to think a long, long time about that.

The verse speaks about God saying He will shake all the nations. He will shake them to fill His house with Glory. An interesting verse, an interesting thought and an interesting way that I see it being applied to my life.

There’s an allure to the “stuff” I can have in my life. An attraction to having something “newer” or “better” or “bigger” or “faster” things. All these things that I’m told I need in my life. All these things that everyone seems to have and they seem to bring happiness. All these things that can somehow become a priority over God in the amount of money, time or resources we give to them. Legos.

What are the things that I have in my life that God is going to shake? What things do I invest too much time or resources in? What things in my life do I take comfort in? The stuff that I have in my life that will someday be in the back of my closet in a Goodwill bag, does it take first place? Have I placed my comfort, security and peace of mind in something that will never last forever?

When I put all these things; careers, jobs, house, car, family, money, health on one side of the scale and put a righteous pursuit of God’s Heart on the other, which weighs heavier? Which side takes priority? Honestly?

When I look at the boys’ (or girls’) meltdown I think how trivial, they’re crying about Legos. How insignificant is that? To that child though, those Legos are comfort and security. What are the Ziplocked Lego bags in my life? The things that if God were to shake up a bit it would cause me to sit up at night crying in my pajamas in bed.

I want to desperately seek His Heart and intimately know His Love. To find security, comfort, peace and rest knowing who my safety and who my Father is. Knowing that whatever Legos are given or taken away from me in my days, none will match His smile on my life.

I contemplated turning around and going back to search for the lost treasure. However I was assured that it would be ok and I didn’t need to do that. Now as I sit at home writing this, I have a feeling the lesson the boy (or girl) is learning is soon to become my lesson as well.

Haggai 2:7
“…and I will shake all nations. And they shall come to the Desire of All Nations, and I will fill this temple with glory, says the Lord of hosts”
(page 832 in my Bible, I checked the Table of Contents)

My prayer is that God would shake things out of me in order to bring glory to Him.

Thanks for reading

Start with I

2009-03-12T21:09:00.000-07:00

I was asked a question today that I wasn’t prepared for. A question that years or months ago there would’ve been a simple answer for, a simple unquestionable response; this evening though I stumbled to formulate my thoughts.

A friend of mine asked me to help out a friend of his who had to interview a missionary for one of their mission’s classes at school. One of the highlights of doing what you do is that people sometimes ask you lots of questions and you get the impossible task of trying to put years of experiences into linear thoughts and attempt to combine them into reasonable answers. The question wouldn’t have been too difficult to answer just a year ago.

For seven years I worked overseas with Book of Hope. I served faithfully in different aspects of the ministry in about 40 countries. I raised my own support, put aside dreams and careers and family and friends. Leaving the familiar for the unknown, saying goodbye to the American Dream for the Missionary lifestyle; leaving the normal and the semi-predictable for places of weakness, loneliness and desperation. It would seem that I’m patting myself on the back, but I’m not, I’m realizing that I was wrong.

The question went something like this, “What aspects have you learned from Missions that I can apply to my own life”.

Two words immediately came to mind. Two words that I could think of that have signified my work in missions and ministry. Two aspects came to my mind that I’ve actually taught as ministry essentials to new interns. Integrity and Servanthood. I used to teach two classes and even have the interns do a fill-in of key words and thoughts. As I began explaining myself and what those two words or aspects meant another word that starts with “I” began to invade my thoughts. A word that suddenly made me reflect on my seven years and whether I had missed the purpose of being in ministry or in service to God.

When you think about it. All the other words or aspects that you could name really flow from this one thing. Heart for service, joy, peace, patience, integrity, wisdom, servanthood, being all you can be. Integrity and Servanthood were things that marked my actions. But God isn’t interested in our doing. The word continued to plague my thoughts. Intimacy.

As I look back I can see that of all the work I’ve done, all the places, all the trainings, all the books, all the teams, all the sleepless nights, all the long plane, train and bus rides, all the foreign languages, all the schools and everything else to go with it doesn’t mean anything without an intimate relationship with Christ.

It’s just stuff. It’s just work, the same as someone sitting at a desk all day, the same as someone digging trenches all day. Nothing. It doesn’t mean anything without knowing Christ and His heart.

All these years of service haven’t meant anything without knowing God’s heart. All the doing means nothing without the loving. Perhaps the most “human-mind-boggling” part about the whole thing is that God desires this intimacy with us.

As the world careens towards the end times the most important thing in our lives will most likely not be which career we choose or where we live. The most important thing to fuel our existence will be an ever-increasing intimate knowledge of God’s heart. Intimacy with Christ will be what sets us apart and what saves us from being misled.

When I look back at pictures and stories from the past seven years there are some regrets and some places that I wish I would’ve had more integrity or I wish I would’ve served more. But in every single instance, I wish I would’ve searched for a deeper relationship and love of God and His heart.

I won’t carry the weight of regret or sulk about time lost or time given. I will however choose to put one thing in the forefront of everything else. To desperately pursue and passionately seek an intimate relationship with the Lover of my heart.

How precious to me are your thoughts, oh God!
How vast is the sum of them!
Were I to count them, they would outnumber the grains of sand.
When I awake I am still with you.
Ps. 139: 17-18

Thanks for reading

A Natural Alarm

2009-01-10T02:22:00.000-08:00

The last couple nights the moon has been full. I hadn’t really noticed it that much until this morning around 3am when I woke up to what I thought was someone turning on the light in my room. Actually I had left my blinds open a bit and moonlight was now pouring into my small space and illuminating the unpainted walls of my room. After laying there for about an hour unable to sleep and unwilling to get up and close the blinds, I finally rolled over and grabbed the binoculars.

I should probably explain that a little better. I don’t keep spying equipment at my window for any other reason than watching the wildlife; a few days ago I had been watching some raccoons play in the trees behind our house so the binoculars were still sitting on the window sill.

I stared up at the moon now through the binoculars. Everyone always says that there’s supposedly a man in the moon. Or his face or something like that. I’ve never been able to see that. As I looked up there all I saw was something that looked like a footprint, or the African continent or something, definitely no man. Maybe I was on the wrong side, or the man is upside down or something.

Of course my mind began wandering to what it would be like to walk there on the moon. To have been one of the two or three people to ever step in a place no other human has ever been. To place a footprint that will never be disturbed or moved or placed again. In some ways I’m sure it’s a frightening, exciting, strange, ethereal and breath-taking moment. It would always be the one story your children and grand-children ask you to tell.

I closed the blinds, laid back in bed and soon began to think.

How absolutely incredible that the same hands, mind and heart that dreamed such a foreign and other-worldly planet also dreamed me. The same creator and designer whose hands carved the surface of the moon also lovingly traced my features. My nose, eyes, feet, hands, knees and even all the inside stuff.

And as thoughts of a master designer fill my mind I soon find myself the astronaut. Walking onto a surface that’s never been touched. Taking steps in life that no one else will ever take and then turning to look behind you to see your mark in the universe that will never be changed. Stopping and standing amazed when you reflect at the places you’ve been and the place you are. In every way possible it’s a frightening, exciting, strange, ethereal and breath-taking moment. At some point stopping and thinking to yourself “Wait a second, how did I get here?”

We all find ourselves in these places. Through life we find ourselves walking into the unknowns, the untouched and the unseen. We have moments in our lives when we don’t know the terrain, we don’t know the answers or we feel like we’re on another planet. In those times I have to remember who created the place in the beginning.

As overwhelming as my problems and challenges are, my God is so much bigger. My problems only seem too big or too heavy when my view of my Father is too small.

As I face this year, I want to remember that as my footprints are placed into unknown areas, the One who designed it all is much bigger, much more loving and much too concerned to forget any details. And it’s always a smile to remember that He knows which planet I’m making footprints on.

Thanks for reading

matt

In Honor

2008-10-15T20:07:00.001-07:00

75 Wedding
Originally uploaded by tynemann

Picture of my mom and dad getting married.

The Cost

2008-10-15T20:03:00.000-07:00

I apologize for the inconsistency with these two posts. I felt I wanted to share what's been happening the past week.

(Written in Oradea Romania Oct. 08 2008)

3 weddings. 4 birthdays. 1 Anniversary. Easter. Thanksgiving. If I had a giant scale and I asked you to put things on one-side that you feel you’d never want to loose what would you put there? Would family be first? Material possessions? Accomplishments? A job? What would go on the other side that would balance or tip the scale so that these things were less important than the other side? What could you put on one side of the giant scale that would balance out your job? Your house? Your family? Is there anything?

Being on the field a lot during the year there are things that you miss. There are events and functions and yearly traditions that you’re not able to be a part of. Before you start thinking I’m complaining or bragging about what I give up each year, I’m not. I look at myself and see that there are people who’ve given or lost more than I may ever be asked. There are young people in India and Indonesia today working with Book of Hope teams and other evangelism projects who literally may loose their lives because of what they believe in.

In March I had the chance to visit some of these National workers who’ve chosen to make a commitment to seeing that children and youth are reached with God’s message of love and salvation. It was difficult to stand there among them as I realized that these are the true missionaries. These are the true heroes and giants of our faith. And they were young. Some of the members on the teams were 17-19 years old. Many of the team members had come from Hindu families. Some of the girls were being told to return home as they had been promised in marriage to a son of their father’s prospective business partner. Yet here they were. Carrying loads of books, film equipment and flyers. Here they stayed in small one-room houses under the church they were faithfully ministering with. Here they prayed, for the strength to continue in the work that God had brought them to. And there I stood very humbly listening to their stories.

In Luke 14:25-27 Jesus speaks words that can be read very harshly. We read words that we want to excuse or try to explain away.

v.26… If anyone comes to me and does not hate his father and mother, his wife and children, his brothers and sisters- yes even his own life- he cannot be my disciple…

I wonder how differently our field staff in India, Indonesia and other parts of the world would explain these verses. How have they taken the message of these verses and integrated them so they live them out everyday?

I read them and they shock me. To hear Jesus say we must hate our families and our own lives? What did that mean then? What does that mean now?

I can’t say that I have any answers. What I’m learning though is that nothing should tip that giant scale in our pursuit of - and our relationship with - Christ. No matter how much we load the other side with responsibilities, careers, music, possessions, family; nothing should ever tip so the scale so that something else is first priority in our lives. There are heroes in parts of India who have measured and found that there is nothing more important than this.

So the cost? This year it was some very special weddings, a brother’s three-year anniversary, moms and all my brothers birthdays. Easter was celebrated in Romania distributing the Book of Hope. My birthday was in Ukraine assessing national programs. Fourth of July was England distributing the Book of Hope. Thanksgiving I’m not sure about yet and Christmas might be celebrated a little late.

I started thinking about all this the other day when I got a really strange email from home. My mom had been in contact with my grandmother who said my father was in the hospital. Some kind of problem after a surgery he had.

I’ve never really had a close relationship with him. I’ve only met him twice in my life that I remember. I learned a lot from him during one of those visits. I learned that he’s the one who missed out on my brother and I growing up. I learned that he’ll never have a second chance to fix things, he’s the one who missed out on my first day of school. I guess you can turn that around and ask me whether I’ve ever made a move to amend anything.

On Tuesday Oct. 7th in an email my mom says they are going to unplug him. Six hours after that, Marvin Eugene Moran, the man I never knew as a father had died.

I sat there and just stared at the email. Part shock, part acceptance and part confusion. The next few days were a little blurry. I wrote a lot during that time. I kept most of it to myself and didn’t say anything about what had happened.

A lot of things go through your mind. A lot of emotions and a lot of thoughts and decisions. None too formulated or processed. You don’t really experience one thing or another, just lots of thoughts all floating around. I question whether I should go home. I question what I should say or think or should I cry or what?

There was no funeral for him. No one there to really mourn his death. So add one more event that I’ll miss this year. Add one more thing to the scale.

As I search for answers and come up with more questions, one thing becomes very clear, my heavenly Father is still there. He still sees and cares and feels and knows my heart more than anyone else.

It seems that the cost this year has been a little higher than I may have planned or expected, but the scale doesn’t tip.

thanks for reading

matt

Fixing Errors

2008-10-15T19:57:00.000-07:00

(written in Oradea Romania- Oct. 11th 2008)

I suppose I should just write and keep writing almost without using the backspace except to fix spelling errors. Cause those bother me.

My father is gone. It’s a weird thing. A strange thing to think that the life that brought me into the world has breathed it’s last and has stopped existing.

There’s all these things you feel and think. All these unsaid emotions and feelings and thoughts and regrets. All these things I wish I could’ve said before he died. I wish I could’ve told him that I wasn’t angry at him. I wasn’t upset or mad about the things he did. I know I’d told him before, years ago that I wasn’t upset or anything but I wish I could have two days. Or even two hours just to say what I feel. To say all these things that I’ll live with for the rest of my life. I want to see where he’s buried, but I don’t even know what that will be like I don’t know if it’s just a plaque or a sign on a wall. I need to see something. I’m afraid though of seeing all these things. But I have to.

I wish I had two hours. To find out where he was born and what he wanted to do with his life. To find out where he went to school and who his friends were and what happened to the motorcycle. Two hours to listen and see and apologize for not being more involved in his life.

I wish I would have gone to see him. To see where he lived and what he did. To maybe give him a little light and hope to continue living. In the end my father just wanted to die. He wanted to leave this world. He wanted to stop breathing and be done with everything. His body was tired and exhausted. He had no desire. No drive. Nothing to live for.

And I’m surprisingly ok. For the most part. One minute I’m totally fine. The next minute I’m crying. Then I’m questioning. Then I’m trying to understand what I need to do and how to find resolve and closure. I have a feeling it’ll be more difficult to find than I expect.

I don’t think I’ve ached like this in a long time. I actually don’t remember ever feeling this way about anything before. Ever. It’s like a constant nagging of something so heavy on your heart. Like in Peru when you’re up in the mountains and you feel like someone is pushing against you trying to keep you from breathing. That’s what it’s like. Like I struggle to breath.

Everything seems to bother me right now. I feel like I fake laughter. I feel like everybody knows and they just stare at me waiting for me to cry.

Life goes on. True. But it hurts.

I start to cry multiple times during the day. And I stop myself.

My father wanted to die. He chose to be alone at the end of his life. He chose to walk away from me and mom and Micah. Yet somehow I still feel like I should’ve done more. Like I will always regret not picking up the phone.

And God knew. He knew I would be feeling this. He felt it. He feels it everytime someone dies. Hurt.

Marv died. That’s all my mom’s email said. One email saying he was going to be taken off life support. And then six hours later those two words. Now in some way I’m supposed to have the emotional and physical and spiritual capacity to lead 10 people I’ve never met into schools and balance my work and home life while being 10,000 miles away.

I don’t want to be here. I want to be home where I can sit in my room all day and not think about anything. And not have people ask me questions or talk to me. I want to be home. Before when people went home early I always scoffed and thought how ridiculous that was that people would leave the ministry or the programs. How stupid to change all that stuff to be able to go back. It’s not like you can do anything about it now. You can’t really change anything or fix it or somehow solve anything. When people would go home because someone’s marriage was junk or someone died. They couldn’t fix any of that.

It’s not about fixing the problem at that point. It’s about fixing yourself. It’s less about what happened to someone and more what’s happening to you. It’s about healing yourself and finding restoration and the ability to continue doing what you do and continue living. Letting it hurt so you can open a wound and it can be healed so you can someday help others.

Someone on my team once went home early because of a death. Before they left they said that I wouldn’t have done that. They said I would have stayed. I thought they were right. I thought that I would have stayed if someone in my family had died. But they were wrong. I’m going home. Not to try and bring back my father. But to bring back me. It’s not about bringing closure, but about bringing understanding.

I want my life to count. I don’t want my death to be mourned and remembered as a grievance of missed opportunities. I will try to loose the guilt and the feelings of never being able to fix the errors I feel that I’ve made.

My father wanted to die. That’s what my mom said. But I didn’t want him to.

Please pray for my family and I as we seek God and His healing.

Thanks for reading.

matt

Shadows

2008-07-16T20:13:00.001-07:00

The picture to go with the story below.
Originally uploaded by tynemann

Two-Sixty-Seven

2008-07-16T19:52:00.000-07:00

If anyone ever offers an unforgettable journey to the top of a tower, be sure to ask whether they’ve actually completed the climb before; and also ask a few questions of the employees about what happens if you want to turn back halfway.

York Minster is a historical landmark in England. Hundreds of years old and a beautiful building to see and step into, the church is truly breathtaking. There are thousands of stained glass windows throughout the building. The high ceilings, stone and woodworking are sights that you rarely see. There was something else that day that caught my attention as we toured the old church.

We climbed the 260 or so steps in the circular staircase to the top of the tower. The stairs actually curve upward to the left instead of to the right. So as you walk up them your right arm is touching the middle column area and your left arm is holding the small handrail. Hundreds of years ago when invaders would try to rush up the staircases they would be at a disadvantage as your sword arm (right arm) would be impeded by the small confines. The defenders of course coming down the stairs would have their right arm free to slash away and repel the attack. (Small history lesson there…)

I guess the best part about it is that when you finally force your feet onto the top of the tower you’re greeted by an incredible view of York. This is quite a reward as there are many points along the climb when your legs are telling you to stop, but the people behind you or your own self-determination push you upwards.

The day was perfect as well. Bright white clouds and a sharp blue sky made the red and grey tile rooftops even more brilliant. The different shades of green from trees and grass areas made the view even more spectacular. As I walked the square rooftop viewing the sight from the different angles, my gaze focused on the ground below us.

There near the base of the building was a school I hadn’t noticed when we first came up. I saw about twenty or so school children scurrying in the areas below. The children played carefree as the great towering cathedral stood behind them. They ran back and forth between sunlight and shadows, yet they are enraptured with their own games and activities giving no second thought to the building near which they play. I thought about this for a moment, how these children can play freely in the shadows of a mighty building that represents an authority and presence so important to the city.

And then somehow, the life lesson is revealed.

Today among other things, fuel prices are rising. We face an election that will probably change the face of our country. The housing market is crashing. The unemployment rate is past 5%. The price of commodities is rising. Yet in all this, my creator still sits on the throne.

In that moment of seeing those children run and play I saw myself in them. I saw how God wants me to stay next to Him. How the problems in life will seem much smaller as my view of Him gets bigger.

I will not look to who sits in the President’s seat to solve my problems. I will not pray more or less depending on which party wins or loses in the next few months. I will not trust in a job or in money. I will not fear when the world around me seems to say all is lost. I will trust in my Father as I rest in His shadow.

I stood there for a moment that day and watched the children playing in the schoolyard. Their laughter and yelling could be heard way up here, 267 steps from the ground below. I took a picture that day of the children playing in their blue, white and grey school uniforms. I’ll probably use it someday to remind me that regardless of how the wind blows, regardless of what storms come I will rest and put my trust in the One who never changes. The One who holds the universe in His hand is bigger than all the worlds problems and certainly bigger than mine.

So after taking in the thoughts way up high on the rooftop that day. I started to question how we would get back down. I was hoping for a fireman’s pole or an elevator, to hasten the journey back to sea level. To my dismay it turns out you get down the same way you got up. The 267 stairs way. As I walked back towards the staircase I stopped to ask one of the employees if anyone ever had to be rescued from the confined quarters of the winding staircase. Yes she replied; someone recently had to be airlifted off the roof where I was currently standing. It sure sounded like a much more exciting way to get down, but I did have to wonder who would pay for that?

"But blessed is the man who trusts in the Lord, whose confidence is in him. He will be like a tree planted by the water that sends out its roots by the stream. It does not fear when heat comes; its leaves are always green. It has no worries in a year of drought and never fails to bear fruit." Jer. 17:7-8

Thanks for reading

Read his story below...

2008-05-02T23:21:00.001-07:00

Vitalek
Originally uploaded by tynemann

Helicopters

2008-03-27T08:00:00.000-07:00

I took a walk the other day. I suppose it was for no other reason than being outside on a beautiful California day. I walked in the general direction of a shopping center near our house, a small Christian bookstore I’d never been in before was where I was headed. After crossing the intersections and waiting for a police officer to pass I quickly jaywalked and stepped into the store.

I realized pretty quick that I wasn’t going to find the book I was looking for here amongst the Catholic icons and prayer beads. So I turned, thanked the lady and headed back home. As I passed neighbors houses that I didn’t know and homes and lawns that I usually drive by without really thinking about I slowed as my eyes caught sight of something laying in the street.

Before your minds race with the thoughts of dead animals or thousand dollar bills let me tell you it wasn’t anything like that. In fact it was something much simpler. Something that for ages had been lost in the recesses of my mind. There was something on the ground that began to stir in me the remembrance of careless days. Lying there in the street were helicopters.

Two weeks ago I entered a school in Ukraine. This isn’t a normal average High School that you would probably ever encounter here in the U.S. The students here were all defined loosely as orphans in one way or another. Through either an inability of the parents to care for them or the complete absence of parents; these kids lived here and studied here. They would spend most of their lives here striving and attempting to live out semi-normal existences.

Our responsibility that day was a simple one. We went to the school to distribute the Book of Hope to the children and show the animated film we use in schools around the world. As one of the groups of students were watching the film I noticed that there were other students still in class. Later I found out that the church we were working with had already been in the school and already distributed to and shown the film to the other students. Vitalek’s story would capture our attention.

Just 13 years old he lived at the school without parents. Regardless of what happened to his parents he was there and none of us wanted to ask what had brought him to the school. The teachers began telling us more of his story. He wasn’t a very good student. He was very disrespectful, used bad language and didn’t get a long with the other students. The teachers had always had a difficult time with him. At one point he ran away from the school to Kiev. Leaving the familiarity of friends, teachers and “home” he left to go two-hours away to the capitol. After living there for a few months he returned to the school and a few days later the church team arrived to show the film and distribute the Book of Hope.

As Vitalek sat and watched the film the scenes of Jesus being crucified on the cross brought tears to his eyes. The teachers would tell us they were all confused and shocked to see this happening. Vitalek’s toughness and years of rebellion began melting away. The teachers would tell us afterward that they’ve seen a complete change in his life. His attitude and behavior has changed. He is kind and caring. He no longer uses bad language and he does something now he never used to do… he smiles. Something none of the teachers had ever seen before. When I asked Vitalek what happened in his life and why he had left the school he replied softly and simply “I’ll never do that again”.

Do you remember helicopters? That’s what we called them. People may have called them something different. But I have a feeling you probably remember them. Those little seeds that fell off some kind of tree that had that one little “wing” on them. We would throw them up into the air and they would spin in circles coming down over us. We would gather up handfuls of them and throw them up into the air. It was always so exciting looking up and seeing hundreds of little spinning helicopters floating down towards you.

As I walked passed them that day I wanted to stop and pick them up and throw them into the air and recall many times of boyhood and the simple times before life got complicated and difficult. I wanted to stop and pick up as many as I could and throw them into the sky. For some reason I started to think about what my neighbors would think if they saw me throwing my arms around as these little things floated down around me. I began to think about how silly that might look and what people would say.

Do you remember the simple times? Remember when life was easy? Remember when your biggest concern was what mom had packed in your lunch that day? You didn’t think to not stop to pick up as many helicopters as your hands could hold because you didn’t care what people thought or what people would say… you just did it.

So I stopped. I picked one up and looked at it for a moment and I thought about Vitalek, a boy who’s probably lived more difficult and harsh days in his life than I’ll ever live in mine. I thought about how in comparison to his life, mine seems easy. I looked at it again and threw it as high as I could and watched it come down… spinning in circles over me. And I thought about how compared to many people around the world, my life is easy.

A likely conversation

2008-02-25T23:38:00.000-08:00

-Shop Owner: Namaste.

-Driver: Namaste.

-Shop Owner: Can I help you? (said in Tamil, the local language here)

-Driver: Well yah actually, I’m looking for something, I’m looking for a horn. (Also said in Tamil, as is most of this conversation)

-A horn? We have plenty of those here. What kind of car is it for or what kind of sound are you looking for?

-Well I really want something that is pretty unique.

-Ok, let’s start with what kind of sound you’re wanting. You want something Loud and Proud? Something High and Shrill? Maybe something in the middle of those?

-Well, no not really, I’m kind of after something that’s really unique. Something that when people hear it they absolutely unmistakably know that it’s me.

-Shop Owner: Wow. Well that changes things. What kind of car do you have?

-Driver: I suppose I should have cleared that up at the beginning. It’s actually for a government bus that I drive. I need a new horn for it.

- Now I’m tracking. I know how you government buses run. You guys only have one speed “Get outta my way!”

- Haha. Yah that’s us.

- Well I guess I could set you up with something big and loud, you know something that’ll really scare those pedestrians, cars, auto rickshaws, bicyclists, cow carts, donkeys, other buses, trucks, cows, sheep and motorcyclists that get in your way.

- Um, I don’t know, like I said I’m looking for something really unique. Well, here’s what’s going on. You see there’s this tall missionary white guy coming here to Madurai. He’s going to be on my bus for at least 6 hours going from Salem to Madurai. My friends and I are just trying to make sure it’s an event he’ll never forget.

- Shop Owner: Haha! Those foreigners, they shake your hand one minute and pull out the germ killer the next… Haha… So besides the horn what else do you have planned? I mean did you strip down your seats so there’s a heavy metal bar in his back the whole time?

- Check

- Did you make sure there would be plenty of other people on the bus so he’s sitting on a bench seat crammed between a person and the window that the sun will be blazing through the whole time?

- Check

- Did you move the bench seats closer together to make sure his knee is grinding into the metal seat in front of him?

- Check

- Did you work down your gear box and transmission so every time you shift it grinds the gears and makes him think the bus is gonna break down?

- Check

- Did you make sure the road you’re taking is full of “diversions” that will take you over extremely bumpy gravel roads? And you’re going to have to be swerving around the whole time?

- Check and double check.

- Did you plan on stopping only once during the 6 hours for him to stretch and stand out in the hot sun drinking lukewarm coconut juice?

- Driver: Yep. Got it all. The whole experience.

- Shop Owner: Haha. Man that’s great. So now you’re looking to fill in the sound? You want to really send this kid home with an experience unlike any other?

- That’s the idea. See before he gets on my bus he’ll have spent 20 hours on the overnight train, and we both know how that can be. He’s gonna be on the top bunk with five other people in the cabin. The fans just inches above his head will be going all night. I already have people who’re planning on flicking on the lights every couple minutes. The coffee and tea guys are going to continually be walking through the halls, people’s phones will be going off all night, the guy across from him will cough loudly in his direction, other trains will pass and blow their horns and there will be a definite lack of sleep. So, by the time he gets on my bus he…

- Will he basically loathe the day he was born?

- Maybe not loathe, but definitely despise to a great degree any choice he had in coming here.

-Shop owner: Haha. Ok I think I got it.

-Driver: So what do you have?

- Shop owner: Well if I’d have known that was what you’re looking for, I would’ve taken this baby out a long time ago. Take a look at this. This my friend is the MASH- ITW 6000

- WOW. The what?

- The MASH- ITW 6000. The Most Annoying Sounding Horn In The World 6000. Guaranteed to make that kid’s hair stand up on the back of his neck. Scientifically proven to make them grit their teeth and make their toes pop.

-Driver: What’s it sound like? I mean can you describe it?

-Shop Owner: Hard to, but actually they have a description on the box here. Let’s see, one part “baby’s shrill cry”, one part “cat’s temperature being taken”, one part “nails on a chalkboard”, one part “hands on an inflated balloon” and of course one part “Early AOL dial-up”.

-Driver: Wow sounds exactly like what I’m looking for.

-Shop Owner: Well it probably is if you’re really looking to make that kid squirm in his seat. Here’s the deal though. You’ve got to really ride this thing. I mean you’ve really got to use it. See it uses some kind of special high pitched whistling mechanism that starts to deteriorate if you don’t use it every 30 seconds. And when you use it, really try to do multiple shots in quick succession or a long drawn out sound like when you stop at a station and the bus in front of you isn’t moving and you need to make sure he knows you’re behind him. So when I say really ride it, you’ve got to sound that thing loud for at least 45 seconds to a minute and a half.

-Driver: Wow this is great. Thanks for your help. I think this is exactly what I’m looking for. This should be just the thing to put him over the edge. I think I’ll take it.

- Shop Owner: Great. Anything else?

- Driver: No, I think that’s it. Thanks so much.

- Shop Owner: Well I’m glad I could help out. Hope that works for you. Have a good day….

- Driver: Thanks.

- Shop Owner: Sure thing… hey wait just one minute…

- Driver: Yah?

- Shop Owner: How exactly do you know so much about this kid? I mean how do you know all these things about him?

- Driver: Huh?... oh that? I just read his blog.

- Shop Owner: Got it, alright, good luck.

- Driver: Thanks.

Purpose

2007-12-03T19:43:00.001-08:00

Originally uploaded by tynemann

Why we do this...

Constance

2007-11-07T01:09:00.000-08:00

Judging from her height and her stance she looks no more than ten, yet experience tells me she’s at least thirteen. She sits across from me in the car as she guides us to her house down the dirt road. She motions to the right with her hand, but says left, I look at her puzzled, remind her quickly of the English words and she looks embarrassed and says left again with the motion and the word. We pull up to a small cement structure no bigger than my bedroom at home. Behind it stands a crude makeshift metal structure even smaller than the cinder block room in front. “Here” she says and opens the door to let herself out.

Stompy is what the coordinator called her. I wasn’t sure exactly why at first, but when I learn the meaning in Afrikaans I realize that it’s in reference to her height. She told us she didn’t like being called Stompy. She liked Constance better. I call her whatever she wants and give her as much dignity and respect I can. She’s a small girl, living in a small house on the outskirts of a big city in South Africa. Her story is going to become even more colorful.

As I walk towards the house another child comes to greet us, this girl is seven or eight, beautiful smile and inquisitive eyes. This is Constance’s “sister”. A quick glance into the home reveals a small table and two chairs. A bed is hidden behind the door. No water in the house, except they tell me, when the rains come and the water floods the area; the bigger problem then are the snakes that get into the “house”. Much of the immediate family aren’t here, at least not anymore.

Two adults appear from the homes, one is Constance’s mother, yet neither one look old enough. One is a bit younger than I am and the other I guess is a young twenty something. They are the caretakers for the children. Neither of them work, the only jobs available involve an unthinkable lifestyle. Constance lives here in this small home with nine other family members.

An aunt, a father and her grandmother have all died recently. I didn’t ask what the cause of death was, but I could have taken a guess with 98% accuracy. Even if I did ask the answer would be pneumonia or TB, not the real causes. The family has no male influence helping provide any necessities. The food they eat comes from relief organizations providing handouts for two of the children, the family stretches it to provide for all, but that is all they are given.

If I were to tell you AIDS killed the family members, somehow our minds immediately wander to think of the immoral lifestyle they lived and how they probably contracted the disease. Our minds try to understand or comprehend how their sin caused this type of situation and thus resulted in their deaths. If I was to tell you AIDS caused the death of the family members would it shock you? Or do we simply justify it thinking that their sin has consequences? Unfortunately actions do have consequences, sometimes on those most innocent.

I ask Constance the names of the people living in the home. She has difficulty remembering and listing them. She gets to about eight and then has to start over. She has a brother and sister, I think. It’s hard to tell who really are brothers, sisters or cousins. Most all of the kids attend school, but studying is a problem when there’s not enough food to keep their minds from wandering and school uniforms cost money. December is coming, most people will be on holiday, the food may not be delivered during the next month or so due to a lack of drivers. Think about that as you sit down for Thanksgiving or Christmas dinner.

If I told you AIDS has nearly destroyed this family leaving eight children orphaned would it really matter? Who cares how it happened, what difference does it make? It’s a situation that continues to happen. Our responsibility isn’t to judge or point fingers. Our responsibility is to care for those who need help. Our responsibility is to cry out to God for His Justice and the saving knowledge of Him to be revealed. Our responsibility is not to try and understand or figure out what happened. Our responsibility is to share Christ with a hurting and victimized world.

As we return in the car to the feeding center for the orphan children, Constance, her younger sister and a neighbor boy take advantage of the free transport down the road. When we reach our destination I open the door, get out and turn around to sweep up the younger sister in my arms to help her out. Her weight and frame tell me quickly she most likely will not escape the disease that has claimed much of her family. I set her down but she doesn’t go far from my side. I see Constance heading towards the other children that have gathered for their meal of the day. Rice.

Whatever our understanding or stereotypes about AIDS and the pandemic that is absolutely destroying nations; there are millions of innocent victims who will someday be nothing more than a statistic in a book. Was it Constance’s fault she finds herself in a daily struggle to survive? Is Constance to blame for the immense pressure she may someday carry trying to provide for her younger siblings? Is it her fault that someday shortly her mother’s life may be taken as well? Is Constance to blame that she too carries the same death sentence?

thanks for reading...

This one is for Chase and the rest of the class...

2007-09-28T01:35:00.000-07:00

It’s an interesting thing traveling to new countries. There’s always some kind of cultural misunderstandings or rules that you will inevitably realize a little too late. Many of these situations happen and then become the fireside stories that missionaries sit around and tell each other in candid moments. Sorry if you guys didn’t understand all that. Let me put it another way.

Not all people in the world live as we do in America. There are a lot of people who have different rules for their communities and culture and families and stuff. For example, in the United States most kids have their own room. If you have your own room raise your hand. O.k. now put them down. If you share with a brother or sister raise your hand. O.k. you can put them down. See in many places around the world a lot of people share a room with a brother, sister, cousin, mom or dad. Sometimes they may even share with two brothers or two sisters or more. Here’s another example. If you have more than three pairs of shoes raise your hand. O.k. put them down. Did you know that in many places around the world lots of children will never have a pair of shoes. They will walk to school and home and to the shops barefoot. So everyone take off your shoes and let your teacher smell them. Then walk around barefoot the rest of the day. (But only if your teacher says it’s o.k.)

Some countries have McDonalds and KFC and different restaurants that are similar to the U.S. but in some places the food isn’t the same. Actually the food may be the same, like chicken, beef, zebras, corn flakes and toast. It’s just that sometimes we eat different PARTS of the animals. Here’s an example. I was recently visiting a country in Asia. The country is called Malaysia. Can you find that on a map? It’s near Indonesia and Thailand. I went with a friend of mine to go have breakfast and guess what we had? Chicken feet. I was very surprised to have a bowl of tasty looking chicken feet sitting in front of me. My friends all ate them, so I picked one up with my chopsticks and ate one too. It was pretty good actually. Maybe someday you can ask your mom or dad for chicken feet for dinner?

Do you guys think it’s ok to have a competition between the boys and the girls? I think we should see who’s smarter. Who do you think is smarter? Girls or the boys? I’ll think of two questions, one for the boys and one for the girls. Then we’ll see who’s smarter.

Girls:
#1- How many countries are currently in the European Union? (Without using the Internet to find out)

Boys:
#1- What is the name of your school?

So who got the question right? Boys? Girls? Tell your teacher to email me and let me know who’s smarter, boys or the girls.

Ok. Everyone have a good day and I’ll try and take a picture of a giraffe for you.

Thanks for reading…

Fish Stars

2007-09-26T06:54:00.000-07:00

I sat at a table last night with a young child who’s imagination grew restless after about the first 5 seconds of the adults talking. Soon the chair became a jungle gym and his food was being covertly flung across the table. A lack of discipline wasn’t this boy’s problem; his father removed him from the table three times as we tried to “overtalk” the sound of crying from the other room. Just the lack of adequate sensory input was more our fault than it was his. Soon the imagination wandered and Fish Stars somehow found themselves in the story.

Sitting out at the edge of a savanna under the moon and star lit sky the boy’s stories grew bigger and bigger as the night wore on. I seem to recall something about a lion or a leopard in one of the exaggerated tales. At one point I think I made out the part in the story where I was some kind of astronaut sailing into the sky eating fish stars. I think I rescued everyone sitting at the table by going all the way up there to swallow them to keep them from falling and hurting people. I mean think about it, who wants to get hit by one of those? It felt kind of nice to be a hero for once.

Most of the times with the Nomad (intern) teams I’m kind of a familiar face that they all try to figure out. Laughing at times, joking at times, yet pushing them to give a hundred percent of themselves to the kids in the presentations at the schools. I train them and try to teach them to rely on and trust each other. I may ask more of them, I may make them work a little hard, I may break their will to live, but I do my best to prepare them for something. See I may not be a hero, but soon they’ll be one.

Soon they’ll stand in front of thousands of children and young people and relay God’s message of Truth and Purpose for their lives. They will be the ones rescuing and protecting those who’ve been hurt and had their lives broken. These are the ones who will be a child’s answer to whether anyone cares for them or not. The child searching for hope, the child feeling the burden of raising their younger brothers and sisters, the child who on that day they enter their school, has decided to give up on life. I’ve trained another semester of heroes.

How long has it been since you’ve been a hero? How long since a child could point at you or remember the day a simple word you said rescued them? I don’t think we realize what kind of impact the smallest word or a smile, an encouraging email or a phone call can make. How much time does it take to be a hero to someone searching for hope?

Pray for those heroes that are out there right now. Two teams near the border of Swaziland, sharing a smile with those searching for a hero. Pray for safety and unity in their teams Pray for me as I work in Malawi to level the roads for teams coming here. Pray for safety and God’s direction in my life. Pray for us as we point children to a true hero, and point to Him yourself. You don’t have to eat fish stars just to be a hero.

….become blameless and pure, children of God without fault in a crooked and depraved generation, in which you shine like stars in the universe as you hold out the word of Life…
Phil. 2:15

Thanks for reading...

The Gristle

2007-09-01T22:22:00.000-07:00

I had to spell check that word to make sure it was right. But I came up with a different meaning than what I had intended. Unfortunately this isn't going to be a hugely spiritually significant post on a life lesson learned. It's 130 in the morning and I leave in about 5 hours for South Africa so thoughts and ideas are slightly scattered. I kind of just finished packing...

Usually before I travel I cut my hair pretty short, so right now the gristle refers to the feeling of the short freshly cut hair, maybe it should be the bristle... Perhaps due to lack of adequate sleep my mind has settled on a word that shouldn't be used.

Being in Southern Africa always hits you with so many emotions. The helplessness, the overwhelming feeling of inadequacy, the anger and frustration at how so many children's innocence is stolen. It's hard to describe driving through places where you know the children's life expectancy is only about 30 years. It's frustrating trying to answer secondary student's questions about HIV/ AIDS. A disease that is honestly and literally going to cause some of their countries to be extinct if behavior doesn't change.

And somehow I'm supposed to prepare 14 young people to be ready to face these situations for the next three months.

In Africa AIDS is destroying the nations, in America materialism is corrupting our thinking and our priorities.

The gristle is that it's so easy for us to not even take five minutes to pray for God's Justice and His hand to rescue those in need.

I'm going to post this now, and someday soon I'll probably go back and read it and edit it... trying to make sense of what I was thinking... or not thinking... the gristle.

Thanks for reading

Let darkness pass by

2007-08-01T08:44:00.000-07:00

I went to a mall today. Filled with moms and dads and kids and teenagers. Tables of sales and shoes and phones and clothing; two food courts and multiple levels of consumerism. Plenty to be bought and browsed and looked at and desired. Strollers and people holding hands, shopping bags filled with the latest accessories and must haves. I went to a mall today where I found myself one of only five other pale faces that I counted as darkness passed by.

This mall is in a Muslim dominated country. The women here wear a head covering as part of their work uniform. Fitted neatly to their head and color coordinated to the uniform they wear, it’s an overwhelming sight. Yet my eyes are drawn to another crowd as I walk the lanes of the busy mall. You see there are many other visitors here like me; they are people who don’t belong in this country as well. And they come from places I’ll probably never be able to reach them at.

Every year thousands of college students leave their families to study abroad. Every year they come to places not their own. They come seeking a better life, a better education and Truth. The problem is that they will be indoctrinated into a knowledge system based on a theory that claims we’re here by random chance giving our lives no meaning and no purpose. Yet there is another belief system claiming life does have meaning and they have a Father who cares about them. The problem being they have no one to tell them.

As I walked the lanes of the mall ladies young and old are hidden behind a veil of darkness. Coming from Saudi Arabia, Pakistan, Iraq, Iran, U.A.E., and other places where Islam has blinded them from the Truth about the meaning of their lives. And I feel helpless, as I can’t do anything about it. I stand absolutely stunned as I realize they stand right before me living in places that I will never be able to get to. Yet they come here looking for happiness in a shopping bag.

There are some interesting facts about college students in the U.S. Many of them come from places around the world. In fact according to some estimates:

“The 2006 Open Doors report was released this week, showing that the overall number of international students in the US has held steady from last year, at about 565,000…”

Do we see the numbers there? It seems that when we “can’t” get to some countries because of religious or political reasons, God brings the people to us. He brings them right to our door, or next-door if you live near a University; and then He gives us an opportunity to reveal Christ to a people group that may have been closed off to the Gospel. Think about it, there are students living, eating, shopping and going to school right next to you that have no family, friends or community around them they are familiar with. When we don’t go to them, God brings them to us.

I wanted to walk through the mall today handing out Books of Hope to all the visitors. Laws made by men prevent me from being able to do that. My heart aches knowing I can never share with them the Truth they are seeking. I want to go back to the mall and just sit and start conversations with people and let God lead. I want to go back and hear where people are from and what they’re doing here and see God work. I want them to be able to go back home with stories of an encounter with their creator and not new clothes to show off.

The article I referenced earlier went on to say this:

US States with the Most International Students

California 75,385
New York 64,283
Texas 46,869
Massachusetts 28,007
Florida 26,058

Leading Countries of Origin

India 76,503
China 62,582
Korea 58,847
Japan 38,712
Canada 28,202

Again, interesting to note that the two most populous countries in the world, the two with some of the most influential markets and economies of the world are sending young people to us. Interesting to think about how many times during those four years they’ll get to sit down with an average American family and be listened to and fed and told the Truth about a God who crafted them with a purpose and plan for their lives.

We don’t have to go far to find people who need to know about Christ. In fact we can be people who not only support missionaries by praying and financially giving, we can also be people who change the course of lives and send them back as missionaries to the villages, towns, communities and families they left in their countries. Places we may never go.

I want to reach into the dark places of the world to change people’s lives. Sometimes all that means is stepping into the lives of one of their young people. Find out who they are. Invited them to dinner one night a month. Listen to their hearts. Send them back as missionaries. Let the darkness pass by and return with the light. Here’s how you start:

“Hello. Where are you from?”

Thanks for reading...

Referenced from: http://www.internationalfinancialaidblog.com/2006/11/number-of-international-students-in-us.html

The Addiction

2007-06-12T07:13:00.000-07:00

I cross a border today. One I crossed once before a few months ago. There is a misguided allure and an intrigue about living this kind of life. Filling up a passport with stamps from new countries is always a rush. The feeling of hearing about the next country you’ll be visiting or the layovers in far off places is always a kind of high, especially if you’ve never been there before. There is something unmistakable about returning home only to receive you’re next shipping out date. This addiction is a hard one to break.

Two weeks ago today, I stood in front of 140 Secondary students in Northern Ireland and spoke truth into their lives. The room was absolutely silent as I explained that they must take into account that their lives and choices matter. Their eyes fixated as I told them it is no mistake they are here, that they were created with purpose and intention. As the presentation ended we opened the time for questions and answers. In reality, the presentation was over and we were ready to pack up, the teacher however, didn’t want to let the students out into the hallways. The students somewhat hesitant at first, soon began voicing their wonderings. A hand in the back shot up. He was one of the older students, shaved head, his uniform in order. I thought he’d ask a simple question about what we thought of Northern Ireland. Instead “What’s your story?” He asked.

During the last six years there are certain moments that feed the addiction to what I do. There are presentations or testimonies or encounters that fuel the need to continue. A chance meeting on a bus with a young man looking for God. A teacher approaches you after a presentation and through her tears she hugs you and thanks you for sharing your story and promises to use the Book of Hope to teach her students. Laughter from a room full of primary school students wanting to be loved, laughter in an all boys secondary school, the students wanting to be believed in. Moments that will freeze in your mind and in your memories and continue to create the desire to commit another six years. The addiction.

I shared my story that afternoon in Northern Ireland. The room sat still as I explained life circumstances, a single-parent home, choosing to wait until I’m married, growing up in church and having to make my own choice about my parents religion. When I finished, something happened that I’ve rarely seen. The students clapped. Not because someone on our team started it and the students joined in. Not because of an awkward silence and certainly not because of my incredible abilities. Simply because God was there. That is the addiction.

I left the school that day on a different level. God had fueled a passion and a desire that is unlike any other feeling in the entire world. Given that I haven’t tried everything else I still wouldn’t trade the absolute rush of knowing this is it. This is worth all the missed flights, asking people for money, lost luggage, haggling with taxi drivers, no home, no car, living from a suitcase. There is nothing glamorous about this. But I’d do it all again for those moments when God is there. He is the addiction.

Here at a small farm in South Africa I’ll leave today to lead five young people into a nation I’ve never been to before. I’ll do my best to lead and protect and disciple them during this next month of their lives. We’ve spent the last six days living and eating and practicing dramas together. We’ll depend upon each other and lean on each other and trust each other. We’ll feed the addiction together as we see God move in ways we could never dream or imagine. We drive today into Botswana from South Africa. Tomorrow we continue with a ten hour drive into Namibia where we’ll spend the time in schools presenting children with the Truth about who they are.

God is the addiction. And it’s worth it.

Forty

2007-04-04T03:04:00.000-07:00

About forty minutes ago I sat in a small living room in an apartment on the third floor in a small India village. I sat in the honored guest’s seat, so I sat on the only piece of furniture in the room. Twenty-seven other people were also there; most sitting on small carpets or straw mats on the floor. Forty minutes ago I was charged with the task of motivating, explaining and informing the small church about the importance of children’s ministry and the purpose of Book of Hope. As I worked through my introduction and our mission statement I paused as I repeated these words, “It is our responsibility to tell children God loves them and Jesus is worthy of our praise”.

During the past week we’ve spent time with pastors and area coordinators challenging them to think differently about children’s ministry and how important it is. It’s important to understand that if we don’t put God’s word into the hearts and minds of the children, someone else will put something else there. There are over four hundred and twenty million children in India. There is a lack of material intended to reach children. Children are the most receptive to the Gospel. Forty minutes ago I looked into the eyes of the people who will first-hand tell children how much God loves them.

In the Indian context it is difficult to separate Jesus and the one true God from the multitudes of other religions. With millions of god’s in the Hindu religion Jesus becomes just another face among the others. What makes Him different or unique when there are other god’s promising prosperity, happiness, peace, long-life, fertility and other temporary fixes to our ailments? You need not drive far to find a shrine or a temple dedicated to a statue that will never heal, help or listen to your needs. These places of worship are visited daily by the masses. A small prayer or flowers or money is left to try and gain approval from the statue. Somehow in some way these rituals bring false hope that somehow the action of obedience and reverence will improve life. What is it that separates the story of Jesus Christ from the millions of other god’s? What is it that makes the story of Christianity so different than any other religion? The difference is that God sent Christ to return us to Him. God is reaching down to all who are willing to come, the Shiva’s aren’t trying to reach down to any of us.

In Matthew 21 we read an interesting story about children and what they are taught. In verse six we read how Jesus triumphantly enters Jerusalem. Coats and palm branches are laid before Him. As the crowds are shouting His praise, He begins healing and setting people free. Soon the children begin shouting as well. They know who Jesus is because they hear others praising Him and they see His miracles. The children hear what others are saying and they join in the worship. The religious leaders and teachers are upset and angry about what’s happening. The Pharisee’s are upset that even the children are praising Him. Jesus defends and rebukes them, “From the lips of children and infants you have ordained praise”. The children were taught who He was and the praise He is due.

It always upsets me that the religious leaders and teachers didn’t even recognize who Jesus was. They were so caught up in their obedience to the law they were completely blinded when the fulfillment was right in front of them. I will never become a Pharisee. I will never tell people one thing and live another.

Our meeting tonight went well. The small church is excited to begin using the Book of Hope as a tool to reach the children in their communities. Each of the members will try to reach out to about 10 children each. This of course will also impact the families. As we prepared to leave I was struck by the thought that in one year this church may have to find a bigger house to meet in. Here, the children are being taught.

Forty minutes ago our car stopped at a light. A ten-year-old girl slowly approached the car. Her clothes were filthy. Even in the dim streetlight I could see she was dirty and malnourished. Her actions had obviously been repeated hundreds of times before. She slowly began wiping street dust from the windows of our car. After she finished she came to the window and tapped on it repeatedly. Putting her hand to her mouth as a sign to say she needed money for food. My mind and my heart battled. My mind tells me she’ll never see any of the money I give her. As soon as I hand it over someone older and much less needy will take it from her. My mind tells me that the money will never go to provide the food she desperately needs. What can I do? How much can I really help this little one? Are there any words that would break the lifestyle she lives in? While my mind tells me one thing, my heart breaks knowing she’s only trying to survive. The stillness in the vehicle marks the unease to which all four of us feel. We all sit in silence hoping the light will soon change, the traffic will begin moving and we can leave the whole situation behind us.

Forty-eight minutes ago I told 27 people they need to tell children God loves them and Jesus is worthy of our praise. Forty minutes ago I tried shifting my focus away from the hurting world this child lives in. Forty minutes ago I found myself a Pharisee.

Uncommon Equations

2007-03-24T23:43:00.000-07:00

How is it possible that 4 = 400,000? In every country around the world math is usually the same. I say that loosely knowing that many of us have experienced times when money or time or distance or weight seemed to be different to us than it did to others. Somehow in the deep recesses of my mind I remember hearing detail assignments of the next few weeks of my life and yet when I look at it now, the math has changed.

About 2 years ago the Billy Graham Evangelistic Association came to India and hosted a program called My Hope India. Their strategy was to train home cell group leaders who would invite neighbor families into their home for a meal and to watch and discuss one of the televised Billy Graham movies that was airing on local T.V. Recruiting about 250 coordinators who trained about 4-5,000 trainers who in turn trained about 500,000 cell leaders who turned around and invited friends and neighbors to be a part of the outreach. It was hugely successful. (Please understand that most of this information is from those deep recesses of my mind which can be prone to mistake)

As the success of this project grew and as the cell leaders began asking for other ways to reach out and continue this type of ministry Book of Hope realized the possibilities of reaching out to thousands of children through the same method.

So I'm drafted to go to India. Our job seems simple enough. Step in to take advantage of an already existing network and train a few hundred people to be trainers of cell group leaders. Let's see how this program works and get it rolling for an Easter launch. Then we'll reload and really push a big Christmas outreach. Wait a second, Easter is only a few weeks at the most away. Which is why we got here a lot earlier than we originally expected. Somehow days and calendars are different here as well.

I guess the next obstacle comes when you realize that all of the volunteers are not all in the same city in India. So during the next seven days we'll be traveling to six different cities and training over 1200 people. These people will turn around and train the cell leaders who will each invite about 10 kids into their homes for an Easter viewing of the GodMan animated movie. This is a 50 minute film set in an Indian context explaining the life story of Christ. It will be aired on National Television with the cell leaders there to distribute the Book of Hope to the children who attend their homes.

So how does 4 equal 400,000? When you consider that one is the number of our team here to do the trainings and the other number is the goal for cell leaders we're hoping to have trained by Easter. Now even if this number is only 100 or 200 thousand trained, if each of them invite 10 kids the potential to reach around 1 to 2 million children is possible. Yet when you realize India's population of children is around 450 million you quickly realize you're in an unending race to complete a task that only God can accomplish.

I apologize for the inconvenience of the numbers and amounts I've thrown in this post, but for some reason, in the deep recesses of my mind I keep telling myself this is all possible. Keeping me balanced is the knowledge there are people like you praying and supporting us. Even more comforting is knowing there is a God looking down on every one of the children who are waiting to hear about His love and purpose for their lives.

Thanks for reading...

Everything and nothing

2007-02-07T10:23:00.000-08:00

A man sits down across from me, his name might make you laugh and think it’s more of a pet’s name than anything else. Knowing this man and his history however makes me think he could probably harm me in multiple ways that I don’t want to think of.

Our 3 ½ hour trip through the winding Andes Mountains was made even more memorable as this Ex-government intelligence officer told me his story. Stories filled with three-day hikes through mountains, friends and coworkers being assassinated, spending 3 weeks with an opposing military force only to find out they were protecting him from a corrupt portion of his own forces. Hearing of his journeys of passing completely unnoticed through multiple checkpoints and seeing his wife killed as someone made a fourth attempt on his life. I think about my life and how the problems and difficulties I’ve faced have paled in comparison to his.

I look over the table at this man whose integrity has kept him out of work because he takes no part or exposes corruption. He trusts that God will bring him work as he needs it and God will provide for him and his two sons. As I see him sitting across from me his glasses are mere inches off the book he scans and has been reading for the past thirty minutes.

What words of life does he find in his Bible? He studies it so intently. What verses mean so much more to him than they do to me? What phrases and promises bring peace and comfort into a man’s life who’s given everything for his country, only to have just about everything taken away? What would I be willing to give or to die for? Does the man sitting across the table count those things as a loss? Or does he realize that he has nothing, so he can have everything?

Has he realized something that I have not? When he awakes in the morning does he wonder whether he will finish the day? Does he trust that his life is in the hands of a creator who is fashioning and preparing him for even greater days? Do I live that same way?

His fingers lead the way to the passages, and his eyes stay fixed… I realize now he’s rereading the passage the preacher spoke from tonight. He’s looking back at the words that have probably sustained him through weeks and years of desperation. It’s not a fancy Bible, no fancy notes or commentaries, but to this man, it’s everything. It’s the words of truth and life that have and will bring him everything he needs. This is everything to him, without Christ in his life it's nothing. What is it to me?

"Are the things you're living for worth Christ dying for?"
- epitaph of Leonard Ravenhill

Almost Forgot

2006-12-25T10:42:00.000-08:00

I took a moment to stop and try and remember my password as I logged in to create this post. The last post here was from November 2nd. Now almost two months later I look back at the countries and places I've been since then.

This is just a simple Merry Christmas wish to all of you. Hoping that time with family and friends is well spent. Don't eat too much, don't drink and drive, give someone a hug, be nice and go on a mission's trip this next year. Who knows what might happen.

Merry Christmas and have a safe and Happy New Year.

Seeing you work

2006-11-02T22:51:00.000-08:00

Knowing that time is somewhat relative in certain parts of the world, and knowing we had to be back to our guest house before 6pm or the nuns would lock the door and give us all a switching and send us to bed without dinner; we decided to start the film at 4pm. This gave us about two hours to finish the fifty minute film and still be able to tear down and make the 20 minute drive.

We set-up the screen and projector around 2:30pm and of course our van full of American kids drew the expected crowd of people who I still haven’t figured out where they must be going, but they always stop and just stare. I guess wherever they were going wasn’t that important anyway.

So we tell the crowd that at 4pm we’ll start the film, they scatter to run home or on their way. The van takes the team back to the guesthouse and I am left with two nationals at the empty church to wait for the crowds. I suppose I didn’t know what to expect really, the church sat empty, quiet and still during the next moments. I had a few minutes to read so I got out my most recent book and began reading again about the “call” to missions that some people must have and others must not.

It always bugged me hearing people say they were called to one place or the other, I remember hearing all sorts of missionaries and people saying they received the call of God to missions when they were whatever age. I don’t discount that or doubt that it’s probably happened. Maybe I just feel left out sometimes that I’ve never experienced something like that. Did I miss the phone call? Maybe I haven’t checked my email recently. Or maybe it’s that the call comes, but there’s too many other voices that drown out His voice.

Then I continued reading about how missions is somewhat unevenly balanced. There are hundreds of churches and missionaries in lots of countries, except where they are needed the most. We send groups and teams to all sorts of countries that already have established churches and heavy populations of Christians. The goal of missions should be to bring in new cultures and people groups to worshipping God. Missions exists in the world today because worship of Him does not. What am I doing today that will bring about Christ’s return to the earth?

So at about ten ‘til four I looked out again across the empty room, I guess we’ll be missing dinner tonight if we’re going to have to wait for people to show up. I suppose even if just a few people come, that’s who God wanted to be there.

Then I looked out through the barred glassless windows, and here they came. Just a handful at first, the school kids came running barefooted along the dusty road; it’s that same red dirt that I’ve been trying desperately to scrub out of my t-shirts. They came running towards the church some carrying schoolbooks and some Books of Hope. A few stood at the door, the pastor waved them in and they raced for the front seats. That’s not bad I thought, we’ve got about thirty kids who’ll be… then more came, and more, and more. The boys all wearing tan shirts, the girls all wearing blue dresses, all school uniforms. Their teachers had not only dismissed them a little early, they had also accompanied many of them to the church. The room soon began to fill with noise and smells and sights of hundreds of children’s faces and feet and hands and the empty quiet of the church was replaced by a joyful expectancy of the unknown. Their eyes locked onto the big white screen in front of them as the images flashed.

I watched God work tonight, I saw Him fill a room full to overflowing, I saw Him bring kids and adults to the windows of the church to watch a film about the greatest love story ever written. I saw children shocked at how Jesus was treated; I heard them cheer when the tomb was found empty. Over 1200 people were at the church tonight, over 1200 kids were told in their language that God loves them and can be their father. I watched God work.

This evening I watched the sunset over the Rwanda countryside. It blazed its reds, oranges and yellows across the deepening blue sky. Clouds showed off their form under the colors. I sat and realized that it will never set on this day again, ever. The sun will only rise once a day and set once that same day, never to happen again. During those twelve hours what did I do with my time? Did I value the moments I was able to tell the children that they are valued and loved? Did I make the most of every moment? Did I answer the “call” to missions and follow God’s leading?

I want to go where there is no guarantee of success. I want to make a trail where there is none, I want to see God work where our human means fail. I want to learn to not even try my own ways, but to trust to His. I want to see You work.

Thanks for reading.

Driving the N1

2006-09-21T06:53:00.000-07:00

Groblersdal. I think no matter how you spell it the spell-check is going to tell you it’s wrong so I should just get used to the red squiggly line underneath it. We’ve been here about three days and already it’s challenged so much of my thinking and my understanding of misunderstanding. We took the N4 highway from Rustenburg to Pretoria then switched to the N1 heading south to Johannesburg and then returned to the N4 to get here.

We are in a North-eastern province. The city of Groblahblahblah isn’t actually where we’re working. Instead it’s where we’re basing ourselves at for the next few days. Each morning we drive about an hour north into a somewhat remote and poor area of South Africa. It was here that our minds were twisted with the questions the students were asking.

I’ve been in thousands of schools in over twenty different nations. Usually when we open up to questions you get a few of the normal things about where we’re from, what kind of food do we like, what we think of their country and sometimes even what our thoughts are about the women in their country... that’s always an interesting one to try to answer.

This class of fourteen and fifteen year olds in a village school went straight to the point. No formalities about our lives or anything. We had finished a traditional presentation telling them they are valuable and they really need to consider the choices they are making regarding relationships. After our presentation we had a few minutes so we asked if anyone had any questions. Honestly I didn’t really expect any, the students are usually very shy and embarrassed to ask anything in front of their peers. They will usually shy away from trying to speak a language that isn’t theirs or they’re not comfortable with. Then it came, in English, right from the back, a young girl wearing a blue school uniform; she shot straight to the point when she asked whether a condom is 100% effective against preventing AIDS. Why couldn’t they ask about our thoughts of politics?

We answered the question with the limited HIV/AIDS information we’d learned in grade school. Anyone else with a question? Hoping in our minds that the subject had passed we were slightly more prepared for the next volley. “How exactly does someone get AIDS?” “Do you get AIDS from giving someone a hug?” “If I’ve had sex with my boyfriend using a condom is it still possible to get AIDS?” “Are the condoms they sell in the store more effective than the ones I get for free from the clinic?” “Do I get AIDS by eating food someone else with AIDS has eaten?”

Our minds are spinning with the reality that we’ve just entered. Not only do these kids not really have any idea about AIDS, they really don’t have ANY possible way to find the truth about it. We were some of the first people to speak to these High School kids who’ve probably been sexually active since they were about twelve years old. Not only do these kids not have any possible way to find the truth about AIDS, there’s nothing really being done to help them. As you’re driving around you may see helpful signs saying “Be wise, condomize” or “Practice safe sex, use a condom” but no one is doing anything more to help prevent this disease. Not only are people not helping them in any way, but even the people who should be helping them are totally confused about it as well. As we answered the kids questions the teachers as well sat there listening. Who will tell these kids the truth?

I realized that day that the limited information I had from grade school or high school was more information than these kids may ever be exposed to. They are living in darkness. They are living under a veil that has covered their eyes to the truth that there is a danger and their lives do matter enough for them to chose life over death. But who will tell them?

Yesterday I was shocked at how little is being done and how little these kids know about a disease that is destroying their nation. Confusion, anger and desperation set into my spirit. It tears my heart knowing that these kids have bought into lies they’ve been told.

Yesterday, in a high school of about twelve hundred students- learners as they call them here- we told them. And we gave each of them a book that explained the truth about AIDS and how it’s spread. We told them of their value to God and how they can choose to make positive choices, they are worth saving themselves. We told them.

Yesterday I told a group of high school students that condoms don’t prevent AIDS, I told them to wait until marriage, I told them God loves them and values them. I told them you don’t get AIDS from hugging someone or shaking their hand.

Today someone told me that it’s likely that every one of those kids has HIV/AIDS. Yesterday came too late for many of them.

Becoming Milo

2006-08-30T04:44:00.000-07:00

A white lab coat and some safety goggles complete the costume. Yet not all is complete to make Professor Milo who he needs to be. Developing a character for plays and theatre was always a difficult task for me. The director would tell us to come up with a character and his or her conflict in the play. We had to define the character by their history, family, schooling and living status. We were supposed to breathe life and depth into a person that otherwise would not exist; and I’m sure some people would like to argue does not exist outside the four walls of the theatre.

It was always easier to come up with the history and background and let the character would flow from that, rather than create a character and then try to define his story and why he was the way he was. This was always a stretch for me. I always had a hard time stepping outside what I already knew. It was hard to look past your own personal ideas and life and make something new. It was always a stretch for me to do figure and plan something I didn’t understand. I was supposed to be able to create a new person based on ideas and thoughts in my own mind. I was supposed to come up with a new world-view and new ideals to create a person who may be completely opposite how I see myself. This is the dilemma.

We are obviously each raised in different environments and places. Every person has been shaped by life experiences and events. Without getting too far into the Nature v. Nurture debate it’s pretty easy to see that we are all different in our views of our worlds, our outlooks and ourselves. These differences are caused by a variety of factors that have shaped much of what we hold onto today.

Creating us and shaping us has been God’s purpose since before our entrance into this earth. He has a purpose and a plan that is unique and specific for you and I. This plan that He has is shaped by where He takes us and the individual experiences we each go through. Although at the time it’s usually a stretch for us, we can often times look back and later see where and why He was leading us the way He did.

My mind has struggled with this entry for a few days now. It’s taken me a lot longer to formulate and process what I need to write for this letter, than on any other. Even now I sit here and try to put into words the feelings and emotions that I’m facing. I think a lot of what I need to say comes from my selfish desires to know the end and the result of this next stage in my life. I want to know the character God is building me into and where He is leading me. I don’t want the process, I want the result. I don’t want the growing and stretching, I want the rest. I don’t want to be at point “A” when I know there’s a point “B” coming along somewhere. I guess I should just explain.

I leave this Wednesday for Africa. I will be leading an intern team of four into South Africa, Rwanda and Uganda. We will be gone from August 30th until the beginning of December. I think the struggle comes in knowing that my flesh doesn’t really want to do this. I mean if I can be completely honest, and this is probably going to sound somewhat “unmissionary-like”, I don’t want to do this.

I don’t reeeaally want to be gone for that long, I don’t want to experience cold showers, rice and beans everyday, goat meat, bottled water, uncomfortable beds, sleepless nights, foreign languages, people staring at you, long bus rides, hot sweaty days, no communication with home, no home, living out of a suitcase, being away, slow internet connections, waking up early, giving and giving and giving. All these things that I don’t really look forward to, or really miss that much are balanced knowing that He is bringing me into a deeper understanding of His plan. I know God is taking me somewhere and He’s forming me into a character and person that He wants me to be, it’s just the process, the process that is causing the most pain.

So I walk this semester in obedience. I take on this mantle of leading this team and all that goes with it under the knowledge that I am being obedient to what He has brought me into. Most other trips I’ve been on have been great because I’m walking in the excitement and passion of the ministry. Yet somehow this time it’s different. I am in simple obedience to His will for my life at this time. I think this is much harder.

Becoming Milo is in reference to a Children’s Show “Demo” that is being filmed here at Book of Hope. It’s something one of the ladies here and the studio are putting together to try to provide needed material for kids here in the United States. What will happen or where it will take us, no one really knows, but that for me would represent the point “B”. I would love to be a part of a children’s show in some kind of ministry aspect. That would really be something that would fulfill a true heart’s desire in my life. Yet because of my travel schedule, I won’t be able to help or be a part of it. But I still walk in obedience.

And there is another point “B” in my life right now, it involves another person, someone that I want to know and share every experience of life with. Yet during these next couple months our lives will be separated by thousands of miles. I wait anxiously and excitedly as God creates and develops in me the type of person I need to be. I look forward to the day I can look back and see the how The Director created me into the character He wants me to be, and the person that she needs me to be. I look forward to the day you can all meet Professor Milo.

Sure enough, this letter comes just as we prepare to leave for the airport to board a plane that will take us to South Africa. I got up this morning at 630am, I start to think about the three months that lay ahead of me and the path I must walk. I know this will be one semester I will remember for a very long time. Walking in obedience to God’s will, not my own.

You do not delight in sacrifice, or I would bring it;
you do not take pleasure in burnt offerings.
The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit; a broken and contrite heart,
O God, you will not despise.
Psalms 51:16-17

Ecualombia

2006-07-27T14:54:00.000-07:00

I’m going to try to explain a place to you that you’ve probably never been to before. You may have visited places similar or heard of such places, but I don’t think it’s somewhere you’ve visited… yet. Let me take you there.

I’ll tell you this, the language spoken here is Spanish, but even in your extensive yet limited knowledge of the language, you still may not understand what people are saying. There will definitely come times during presentations that you wish you knew more. You may be suddenly called upon to do parts in dramas that you haven’t done for a year or more and expected to know the language. Welcome my friends, to Ecualombia, a place I’ve been many times and am now visiting again.

It’s important to remember some things when visiting this somewhat exotic location. It’s hard to even think where to start, because there are so many things that are different. Let’s start here, with your daily schedule. Each morning at about 5:20am your alarm goes off, a little unexpected and horrifying at first when you try to realize you only set it six hours ago. Your day starts early because your schools start early, your days go late because the programs at night run late. You force your body to sit-up. You know this will be the hour before breakfast when you and God have the only quiet time you may have during the day. Welcome to your days in Ecualombia, a place where the dogs only bark near your window the one day you get to sleep in.

Your food may be a little different than what you’re accustomed to. It may have been an animal you were recently watching in a field nearby. It may have been some part of an animal that we would normally throw out. Your food will most likely include rice and beans, staple foods that are usually served at every meal, even at breakfast. It’s possible that last nights dinner has already gone through you or come back to haunt you. Try to avoid anything that’s been washed in unfiltered water or hasn’t been sanitized. It’s a rather difficult question to ask in another language. Welcome my amigos to Ecualombia and meals that you better not make faces at, your being watched.

You will probably sit at a table, ride in a van, share a room, or any number of other activities with people you may have never met before until a few days ago or you’ve been traveling with for the past two months. You will most likely talk about what you dreamed about last night either out of lack of other relevant stories or fear of sharing something else more secret. You may actually learn to really admire some, you may learn to try to avoid others. No matter the case, you will learn things about each other and share things that you may have never shared before. You may learn things about yourself even, things that you thought were bad in others are actually things you may need to work out in your own life. Welcome friends and teammates to Ecualombia, a pressure cooker that will push all your buttons all on the same day.

You will be in front of hundreds of students, all excited, anxious and sometimes terrified of the visitors in their school that day. You will do your best to share a message that will touch their hearts and will be appropriate for their place. You will do things you thought you’d never do, act like you would never act normally. You will participate in dramas and songs that may seem lame at first but you notice the children respond well and seem to be getting the point when you tell them your story. You will most likely see many of them cry, laugh and smile all in the same moments. Kids may try to touch your arm to see if your color will come off. They may react rudely or even seem uncaring, but remember, they only act what they’ve been taught and their actions are only reactions to what’s been done to them. So here in Ecualombia we don’t get upset when the kids try and get more than one book for their seven cousins.

Even now as I sit here typing this, I am in the upstairs area of a small church awaiting a six o’ clock celebration. The band that is practicing downstairs must believe that bigger is better and God is deaf, their sound is definitely carrying into the neighborhood areas that surround us. The church ceiling fans bring a slight relief to your sunburned neck that sat exposed to the solar/ gamma rays during your seven school presentations today. The pastor of the small church uses the same said upstairs area to house himself as well as his wife and child. I think I’m sitting in the entry way to the house. Welcome to Ecualombia, where churches are not what they look like on the outside, more than what they seem on the inside and you don’t have to be in the same city to hear the worship team.

Basically your day will consist of lots of schools and lots of kids and lots of books. There will be times when your body screams to stop and rest, other times it will not respond to what your mind tells it to do. Sometimes there will be laughter, tears, joy, sorrow and pain all mixed with an overwhelming amazement about the fact that God allows you to be a part of spreading His message of Hope around the world. “Why me?” is a question you may find yourself consistently asking. “How is it God, that you chose me to be a part of what you’re doing?” Welcome to Ecualombia, a place where wonder of God’s work and our opportunity to be a part can only be described as beautiful.

So here I am in Ecuador for a few days with a team from Boston. On August 1st I leave and meet a team in Colombia. That’s where the name comes from. It’s a place that I kind of invented but I’m sure many of you have heard of similar places or visited places like this before.

Sorry if this email is too much, it’s my life and it’s all I know how to write about.

Thanks for reading.

Hearing the children echo

2006-06-28T18:54:00.000-07:00

And the children echo, and the sounds fill the empty walls of the brick church and up to the tin roof that is radiating the African sun and warming the church. The songs are carried to the heavens in the hands of angels who deliver them to the creator who in turn smiles and sends his favor to the small building on the African hillside in the small province of Umutara.

There is no thousand dollar sound system here. There is no mood lighting or worship team to help usher us into the most holy place. Just voices singing with enough conviction to make you love Jesus and want to worship even more.

You can make out only two words in the unfamiliar language, one is Jesus, and the other is their homeland Africa. Two words you know they sing most passionately about.

There are no denominations here; there are no skin differences. No language barriers are here either, for the sound is a haunting. It haunts your soul, deep into a place where no one is safe. The words are not understood, but the emotions are easily heard, their singing fills places and touches parts of your spirit that are unprepared. A haunting, so moving you begin to see less and feel more. Songs of sorrow and songs of joy; the children sing with the conviction that they’ve known both. Songs passed from generation to generation now being sung by the next generation with my hopes that their lives will glorify Christ.

What is it about children’s voices that seem to make your heart burn or ache even more than you thought was possible? What is it about the abandon and absolute everything that the children seem to sing with? Why does my heart ache to know what the words are and yet know that I probably understand more already without the lyrics?

Their songs confirm in your heart what God has been telling you for the past couple weeks. The songs replay the message He has been trying to get through to you for this next step. After seeing their faces and lives and experiences, how is it possible to return “home” and be the same? How can I not go? How can I sit back and try and turn my eyes from the need there is in the world?

What will it take for me to decide whether or not to continue giving my life to the people who have never heard? When is my breaking point when I realize the futility of the American dream and the “things” that make us happy? Will I again surrender my dreams and my goals and my desires for the life that God has for me?

I think I’m a step closer now after hearing a small children’s choir sing in a foreign language about the things they’ve experienced. Because being in this environment, away from the familiar, away from the normal church services, away from the comfortable; He is able to finally get through to us. And it is here that things become clear and answers are found.

As the song ends I clap with the congregation, wipe my cheeks and look up to see the children are still standing there. Another song begins as the worship leader sings out a verse and the process begins again as the children begin to echo…

Chasing Daylight

2006-05-16T09:05:00.000-07:00

Flying Westward you follow the sunshine as it races it’s way across the sky. Lucky enough to have a window seat you experience the beauty of God’s imagination in the colors spread across the sky. Traveling into the setting sun you arrive at your destination only a short time after you’ve left, depending on your layovers. It’s during these times when you experience an extended daytime and you have plenty more time to think about things and try to figure out your life and where it’s going. Westward at the moment would be the answer. More than just the physical direction instead, trying to figure out what your life is becoming.

Purpose in life is always the big question, what am I going to do with my life? What will I be when I grow up? Who will I marry? Where will I live? Which job should I take? What’s the next step? These questions run through our minds daily. I heard a pastor speak recently who emphasized more of the being than the doing. God is more interested in us becoming who He wants us to be, not doing something for Him.

After reading that last sentence don’t misunderstand that we should sit around waiting for God to make us who He wants us to be, and do nothing for Him.

For the past four and a half years I’ve been doing God’s work. I’ve been telling children and young people around the world about His love and His hope for their lives. I’ve traveled to different countries, lived in different places and tried to endure different foods. During this time, I’ve seen changes in my life and changes in my perspectives. It wasn’t about the work; it’s been about the shaping of my heart and the destruction of my own selfish motives and desires in life. It’s been about the teaching moments when God moves and whispers into my heart.

What is our purpose in life? What are we here for? Two parts that I think are very important.

I believe our first purpose, is to glorify God.

Personally, I want my time, resources, actions and words to glorify Him. I think we all do. I think we all want God to be glorified with what He has given us. I want Him to look on me with a smile, to be proud of me and who I am. I want people to see my life and see His hands at work in me.

The second thing is to point other people to Him. As much as I will be very happy to go to heaven and be with Christ, I know that I can accomplish much more for Him here on this earth than I can in the life after. Once Christ comes and returns for His church our work will be done. I don’t want to stand in front of Him and be upset that I could have done more. I keep my mind focused on the eternal, remembering that things in this world will fade and be destroyed. I want to live having no regrets about what else I could have given. There is no wealth, possession or achievement in this world that attracts me and I want to live knowing that I will never pursue these things. I will never pursue the American Dream, for that is all it is; a dream that will never be obtained or achieved.

My next trip will take me to the country of Rwanda. Marking the 12-year date of the genocide that took place, Book of Hope will be working alongside other ministries to help bring “100 days of Hope”. www.hoperwanda.org We have the opportunity to provide the Book of Hope to over 2 million children.

Please pray for me as I lead an intern team into this beautiful, yet hurting nation. I greatly depend on your prayers and support to continue this work. Please pray for wisdom, joy and protection over our team.

This is for Jeremy

2006-05-02T10:15:00.000-07:00

Jeremy got mad that I hadn't updated for a while, so this is for my fellow team-mate and mentor. Here's their website: http://westwithjesus.blogspot.com

The Passing of an Age

2006-04-14T16:25:00.000-07:00

Each year around this time, something very unique happens. Beyond the Easter Bunny and the baskets. Past the Cadbury eggs and the Peeps (how long has it been since you’ve had one?). Something somewhat extraordinary happens. Actually two things happen.

The first thing, not as important or recognized by the world as the second, is that I celebrate a birthday. This was actually a pretty unique one being the first I celebrated in the US in about four years. I turned 30 this time around, which for some reason does feel a little different. I think I’m starting to see some grey hair, then again maybe I should still be glad I have it.

The second, more celebrated event, is when church parking lots fill, it’s hard to find a good seat in the pews and people gather with their families to Celebrate Easter. Families will enter churches together, maybe have a dinner together. Most of the true meaning will be lost in the Easter Egg hunts and chocolate treats. This isn’t an email to call us all to reflect deeply at the events that took place. Instead, think of the Love that it commanded.

I’ve been struck recently at different times by words in worship songs, scripture and in the presence of God at how incredible God’s passionate desire is to romantically pursue us. What? Does that even make sense? God is a Lover of hearts and minds and souls? Yah I think He is.

Recently while at a conference I found myself singing a song that I had never heard before. As the words came on the screen I nearly shuddered from the picture that God was placing in my mind and the idea from the words of the song.

“Romance Me” it said, “Dance with Me” it went on. Is this song for someone’s spouse? Am I singing a wedding song? Or could this really be aimed at asking the Creator God to love us in a way we may never have been loved before. How unbelievably incredible, this passionate God that literally holds the universes and stars also formed my being. This same God is also seeking a love relationship with me? Not only that, but He desires to love me even more than I could ever be in love with him?

Trying to wrap my mind around this concept is boggling, attempting to rewrite the experience makes me realize my futile humanity and my limited English. There are truly no words for how God feels about us. The passion that He pursues us with, the enjoyment He receives from that intimate embrace that only He can give.

Today’s culture abuses the word Love and all it’s meaning. It was love that put Christ on the cross. God loved us so much, and He desires us so much that Christ died so that we could have that relationship with Him. Yes that love results in an eternal life in heaven, but also here, while we are living on earth that same love brings life to our death.

Again, this is still something that I’m trying to wrap my mind around, and I apologize if it doesn’t make sense. It’s just something that continues to absolutely amaze me. The words we sing in worship, the act of Christ dying, the Bible and it’s love story and God’s wonderful presence all move my heart. I just hope that it’s something we come to recognize and continue to appreciate more this weekend and the rest of our lives.

I am praying that you all have a wonderful Easter weekend and time with family, friends and God. May he truly entice you into a deeper place in His heart and that an intimacy with Him would be your hearts desire.

Thank you once again for every single prayer and thought and email and dollar that you’ve helped me with. God is taking us on a journey that is only for our good, yet we must learn to take the time to listen to Him and follow His voice. Training our ear to the voice of our Creator, Father and pursuer of hearts as we walk out this life.

Once again I find myself at the end of a letter, not really knowing where this next age will take me, or how long the road or journey will last. But knowing and trusting completely that even at the passing of this age, His voice is reassuring me of the place I find myself today.

1,000 Pine Trees

2006-03-08T12:02:00.000-08:00

Gypsy villages in Romania are usually smaller communities of similar cultures or races banding together outside a larger city. The Numiest community was no exception. We had driven about an hour down the dirt road made only rougher from the treads of horse and carts passing through daily. After crossing a small, barely standing bridge, over a small creek we arrived at the leaders home. We were presenting the Book of Hope to the children gathered outside the village leader’s home on this cold Thursday morning. The leader appeared quickly and approached us.

Now almost a month later I reflect on this meeting as I stand in front of about twenty junior high students learning about world geography in Mrs. Atkinson’s class. How am I supposed to relate to these students about the things you experience in other countries? How do you explain to them the faces, people and food? How am I supposed to convince them that there is a world outside the four walls of this school?

In this Junior high classroom the kids look shocked as I tell them that the family we lived with had four kids in one room. There was only one bathroom and the hot water didn’t always work. The kids eyes widen when I try to explain that kids in other countries don’t all have T.V’s or DVD players in their rooms. They don’t all have stereos and cell-phones and iPod’s for their latest music download. A sense of amazement that people could survive that way, and a sense of apathy that it’s too far away for them to care.

Then the hands raise, oh good I think, questions. “You have a question?” “Yah, my friend is from Armenia, I mean Romania, actually I don’t know which it is.”

O.k. any other questions?

“Yah my friend went to Spain and she really liked it”

Hmm. Ok, I’m glad you guys really learned a lot from today’s lesson.

“Any other questions?” I ask, none really.

How do you explain to these kids the reality that many people live with? What is it that separates them so distinctly from the rest of the world? How do I tell them this story in a way that they’ll never forget?

As the village leader approached he extended his large hand towards me. I grasped it firmly and kept it there as I looked into his eyes. It bugs me when people shake your hand like a dead fish. This was no cold mackerel. I stared into his eyes as we both exchanged greetings in our own language that neither of the other would understand. His eyes spoke words to me of life, experience and wisdom. His hand spoke to me as well and the stories I’m sure it could tell.

That hand left an indelible impression of years of cutting trees, handling horse reins, shoveling snow, constructing homes and raising a family. Experiences and events that none of these kids would ever understand or know. For hours afterwards I could still smell pine trees on my hands after shaking his. One thousand pine trees is my guess. The number he’s probably felled in his lifetime. The smell and the image of our hands interlocked will never leave me, I just hope someway I’ll be able to explain it to the twenty kids in Mrs. Atkinson’s geography class and to you.

Thank you so much to everyone who supports, prays, calls, emails and reads
about these adventures. As much as you're supporting Book of Hope, you even
more are affecting me and my life as I go about seeking God's plan and
purposes for my life. Thank you for your partnership.

Trying not to wake the...

2006-02-14T14:04:00.000-08:00

What you’re about to read is no beautiful missionary story about an incredible crusade or event that saw thousands come to know Christ. It’s the true stories, the untold legends, those uncovered secrets that never make the front page of an update newsletter. Here’s how it happened.

My “friend” who happens to also be a missionary was staying at some people’s house in the cold snow covered mountains of Romania. Now whatever ideas you’ve already gotten in your head about Alpine ski lodges, Mercedes SUV’s and hot chocolate by the fireside you can quickly forget. This was none of those.

He was staying in a pastor’s house with four of the remaining nine children, the pastor and his wife. The house was “warm” compared to the negative “freeze-your-digits-off” outside weather, but it surely wasn’t anything that would make you think of having ice cream after dinner. The only bathroom in the small house was downstairs next door to the kid’s room, two teenage boys and two teenage girls, all sharing the same room.

After most of the family had gone to sleep, save one girl sitting in the living room/ dining room/ family room, he quietly made his way to the bathroom trying not to wake anyone so he could take a shower.

Now whatever ideas you just got in your head about an actual shower that you can stand up in, stand under the faucet in, or actually consider a shower you can quickly forget. This was a bathtub with a house coming out of the faucet that you have to hold with one hand while trying to position yourself so less water gets onto the floor and surrounding fixtures, oh yes, no shower curtain.

Now whatever ideas you may have in your mind about the bathroom being as warm as the rest of the house you can quickly forget. The cold tile on the floor is one reminder that the warm water will feel especially good.

So my friend looks to the faucet. This is an old metal one that has two nozzles, cold on the right and hot on the left. Except something is missing, the cold water handle. That’s ok he thinks, the water wasn’t especially hot last night, crank it up!

As the water heats up and the steam builds he carefully navigates the high cold tub walls and steps in. The water instantly sears his sensitive feet that have suffered mild frostbite (or so he claims to all the workers in Florida) from that day’s journey.

As he kneels in the tub, because standing would expose you to the outside world through the open window located shoulder level to him, he realizes this water is not just hot, it’s near crying out in pain hot. Which isn’t acceptable due to the fact that the family is asleep.

So he begins the sprinkler splash, which is an ancient missionary trick that entails one hand holding the hose while the other splashes scalding hot water onto his cold body. After that method failed, he tried quickly grabbing some water with one hand to use as a temporary washcloth to rub down whatever parts of his body he wanted clean.

After applying some shampoo to his partially dampened hair he realized that getting the stuff on would be a lot easier than getting the stuff off. There would have to be a considerable amount of water involved to rinse out his hair, which would create an absolutely intolerable situation. The search for an ulterior method begins by the perusal of the bathroom amenities.

Now whatever ideas you may have in your mind of bathroom items and amenities you can quickly forget. There was a washing machine, a sink and a toilet. All of which conjured up frightening images when the paramedics would have to arrive to retrieve his cold naked body from the clutches of said items.

As he continued his search in vain, trying to look around the cold room and letting his imagination work, he realized the obvious. Honestly, what other options are there for rinsing this stuff out of your hair when you’re kneeling in a cold bathtub at 1130 at night trying not to wake the…

Then the noise, a piercing metallic sound of a solid metal object falling, scraping and bouncing off the cold walls of the tub he is in. Coming to rest under his leg is the handle to the hot water nozzle.

A thousand thoughts from a thousand places hit his mind at once. He envisions the family all waking suddenly and running into the bathroom to see what happened. He pictures stern and shocked looks as they stare to see this intruder who has broken their prized hot water handle. He thinks to call out that everything is ok, but realizes he never learned how to say “It’s only the handle to the hot water nozzle, go back to bed don’t worry about me” in Romanian. But a surprising thing happens and no one wakes.

Slowly his mind puts the pieces together, he realizes that the one handle, works both the hot and cold nozzles. He realizes that by removing it from one side to the other he can obtain hundreds of different temperature settings. He realizes that in his over-assuming mind of how poor and backwards other people are, they’ve actually kept things simpler.

In a small cold bathroom, in the high Carpathian Mountains, in a local pastor’s home, the family sleeps soundly as the missionary laughs quietly at himself. The simplicity and reality of the situation strikes as he thinks of all the people at home who might somehow understand if he tries to relate this story to them. And as he types out the story at 1230 at night, he hears the pastor downstairs snoring loudly.

Of course, this is the story he told me, so I don’t know if it’s true or not.

What do I know

2006-02-02T06:12:00.000-08:00

I don’t carry conversations very well about cars, I couldn’t tell you the difference between a ‘67 or a ‘68 Mustang. I’ve heard that it has something to do with a side grill piece but I don’t remember for sure.

I don’t know much about politics, I couldn’t tell you who the Green, Free or Liberty party candidates were this last run. Don’t ask me the difference between the House of Representatives or the Congress. I know who our president is but I don’t follow much after that.

The sports category I fail on as well. Get me on the field and I can play, but don’t ask me what March Madness is or who’s going to be in the Rose Bowl this year. I don’t know anything about ESPN or SportsCenter except their commercials are sometimes funny.

There have been multiple times when I’ve felt that I should know about all these things; seeing guys stand around and talk all up and down about what year was better for certain players or how one car was a predecessor to some other model. A man on the side of the road in Kenya began talking to me about the perils the world is in because of my presidents’ bad decisions. I had no answers. Is that bad?

Should I be slightly concerned that I don’t know anything about the impending Super Bowl? Should I be more thorough in knowing my Mayor or what he does? Should I spend more time reading what the ballot measures are before voting ABACADABA all the way down?

I feel strangely out of place when the guys start throwing words around like catalytic converter, alternator, fuel injection or someone’s voting record. I kind of glaze over when people start rolling names of players around; you would think they had dinner with them every night.

I suppose there’s nothing wrong with people talking about all this stuff; maybe I’m the one who should know more about it. It’s good that we engage in conversations about things we like and things that matter, maybe I’m the one that needs to read and know more. I mean seriously, what do I know?

What I do know.
I know that there are still millions of students around the world who’ve never been told of a creator who cares or a master designer who crafted their bodies with precision beyond imagination. I know that there are still countries and people groups with no Christians, no witness, no one to tell them that the best life to come is the one we find in Him. There are still people who are crying out to know the promise we’ve found and why we have no need to fear death.

Someone once said “Why should people have the chance to hear the gospel twice when some people haven’t heard it once?” True, and how can I even think that I should stop working when I know there are some who haven’t had that chance to hear it once?

What is it that consumes so much of our time that we don’t live for God more? What can be so important in this life that we don’t take the time to live for the next? What part of our conversations center around Him? How can we live differently? There are hurting people asking questions that are going unanswered, unaddressed and avoided because I’m too concerned about things in my world. We have the answers and for some reason a God in heaven has chosen us to be a part of this awesome work.

Tonight, standing in front of a small Romanian church I will try and convince them the importance of children’s ministries and reaching their world with God’s message of true life. I will share with them knowledge and what I know from my experiences as a Book of Hope missionary. Hopefully they will see past all the things I know in my mind, and instead see all the things I hold in my heart for the children of their country.

What will the next two, five or ten years hold for my life? I really don’t know, whether I continue at Book of Hope for another two years or not isn’t important right now. What will the next two, five or ten minutes hold for me? I don’t really know that either. But I am looking forward to the day when He puts His hand on my shoulder and looks at me and says “Well done”. That I do know.

Side note: This message isn’t meant to tear down or rip on people who enjoy talking about all the things mentioned here. This is just an observation I’ve made about the things I talk about or don’t talk and about and how I spend my time… and go Seahawks.

Looking out at Nothing

2006-01-30T13:04:00.000-08:00

Staring out the window blackened by the cold night that consumes the Romanian countryside, our traveling companions look at nothing really. Save the random streetlight and train stop that color the scenery there isn’t much to look at besides each other, but that’s not really acceptable. Eric and I are accompanying the new National Director to a city just north of Bucharest.

There are three other people with us in the small cabin, three people whom we’ve never met and probably won’t talk to for the entire trip. The cold weather and the cultural expectations diminish most chances of striking up a meaningful conversation with strangers. Why is that? What is it about culture, fear and society that separates us into our personal space and comfort levels? What would we see differently if we saw with an eternal perspective?

After about three hours into the trip I realized the lady sitting next to me and across from me had been staring out the window pretty much the entire time. For most of the day it was acceptable, there were houses, cars, people, buildings, churches, cities and signs to stare at. After nightfall you couldn’t really see anything out the window except your own reflection and even that loses it’s appeal.

Who were these people? Did they speak English? Where were they going? What would be the consequences of actually attempting a conversation? Do I have any right in bothering them? What should I ask them and what are their stories? What if someone somewhere is praying for their salvation and I’m the person God is putting into their path? What if one of their family members is praying that someone like me would be put in their lives to speak truth to them?

I pray for family and friends to come to know God and I always expect the messenger that’s going to do the job to be obedient to hearing His voice when their moment comes. I expect whoever is out there to be sensitive to what’s being whispered to them when my friends’ hearts are open to hear. Here I am praying all these prayers that someone dear to me would have the chance, or someone would tell them about Christ, I at least expect someone to have the courage and compassion to open their mouth and try. Maybe instead of praying so much for someone else to minister to my unsaved friends, I should pray first that God would use me and help me to be aware of those around me.

Why don’t we keep a better eye open for opportunities? Why don’t we make the most of each situation to turn someone’s heart and eyes towards God? How many more prayers must be offered before we become willing to put aside our agenda, plans or pride and point those around us to the answers for their problems?

I wish I could tell you how I did the good Christian missionary thing of opening up a conversation with them about how much God loves them and cares for them. I wish I could tell you that before the end of the trip they had both accepted Christ and had promised to start attending church. However…

The train rolled on, the hours passed slowly, the man checked our tickets and our cabin sat in silence. And out there, someone somewhere is praying, sending up requests and tears that someone somewhere would speak to their sister, mother, aunt, cousin the news of true joy. Someone may be praying that I will be willing. Unfortunately, I join them and sit and stare out the window… at nothing, praying for my friends and family.

Falling Down

2006-01-05T12:24:00.000-08:00

For the past four years airplanes, passport checks, children and books, new countries, strange food and unexplainable circumstances have defined my life. Buses, taxis, trains, hotels, hostels and dormitories, internet cafes, churches, orphanages, prisons and conference calls. Trainings, teaching, leading, close calls and sleepless nights. Boat rides, horses and bad translators. Missing home and frequent flyer miles. My passport is filled with stamps and visas from almost every continent. These things have shaped and formed my world and given me my purpose and my cause. And now it’s ending. The things I thought I knew about myself and who I am here at Book of Hope are suddenly falling down around me. My travel time is done.

I am not quitting Book of Hope, I have not been fired or downsized or “let go of”. My assignment this next spring caught me by surprise to say the least; to use my newest favorite word, I was stupefied.

Unfortunately I realize that much of the way I define myself has been through the work I’ve been doing for God. If you had asked me yesterday who I was or what I do, I’d have no problem telling you all about Book of Hope and what we do around the world. But that’s not the question or the answer. Who am I as a person? Who am I deep down in my soul and heart? Am I just my abilities and talents? Am I really all the things that I’ve built up around me? It’s almost as though suddenly you’ve been completely exposed and laid out in front of everyone to see what you’re truly made of and what you’ve got. It’s as though someone is taking everything that I’ve held onto and forcing me to let go of them. I think I know who that someone is and why He’s doing this.

Part of the problem comes when people ask me what I’m doing next semester and where I’m going. An answer of “I don’t know yet” sometimes fulfills the wonder. Not this time though, I know exactly where I’ll be but I have no idea where I’m going.

A book I've been reading recently talks quite extensively about this subject of the danger of building your ministry into who you are. The book challenges us to make our ministry a result of the intimate times we spend with God, not the other way around. I've always thought that my relationship with God grows as a result of my ministry, but it should actually be that my ministry grows because of the quiet time I spend with Him and learning to listen to His voice.

So that’s my question now to you. I ask you to think of the things we may be hiding behind to avoid the quiet times alone with God. What work or busyness are we engaging in to avoid the soul searching? I would never ever have thought this day would come; I always saw my life as being on the right track and my relationship with God is good. I suppose your ministry or work isn’t an appropriate gauge of who you are in Christ.

So who am I? I’m planning on finding out. And who are you?

Making it sound easier than it was

2005-12-03T14:39:00.000-08:00

Like a leaky faucet water droplets fall off the brim of my hat. The rain doesn’t stop for anyone or anything. Being in the outer rim of a hurricane’s wrath makes you wish you would’ve packed everything in Ziploc bags, including yourself. Being in Central America during the rainy season also alerts your body to some previously unknown facts. Realizing that there is truly no part of your body that has not been dampened by the unrelenting rains, you stop making fun of the silly looking Wal-Mart rain poncho that your teammate is wearing. Truly like a scene from a movie the islands in the gulf of Costa Rica are visible only a few times through the blankets of rolling fog. My imagination runs with the ideas of dinosaurs or King Kong peering through the dense forests watching our boat slip past the rocky shore. Somewhere on the island though is a school, where students are waiting.

Our day began with a painstakingly slow hour and a half drive across Costa Rica’s infamous roads. We finally arrived at a small river among the mangrove and palm trees where we got out of the cars. Where are the boats I asked; all I got in response was an outstretched arm pointing down the river. We secured the equipment in large garbage bags to protect from the looming rain clouds and we began our journey downstream. I chose wisely to remove my shoes and socks, although the thought of stepping on a crab or some shells was no consolation to my decision. As the mud climbed up my leg I soon realized that distance is a relative term depending on what country you are from.

We soon reached the boat and loaded the equipment; then we were faced with the difficult part of having to push the boat into deeper water. The water soon reached my thigh and the mud was coming up to the lower part of my knee, regardless of how high you roll your pants, you realize that blue jeans are not the fastest drying pants in the world. Soon we were out far enough that the driver could lower the engine. The open water awaited us.

We made our way across the water towards one of the islands. There are no cars or trucks on the island so we pretty much pulled right up onto the beach in front of the first school. We dropped off the first team and the film equipment, we then headed to the high school and breakfast, it was ten ‘til twelve in the morning.

Scrambled eggs, brown rice and black beans truly never looked, smelled or tasted so good. The coffee needed a lot of sugar but that was worth it also. After finishing my plate and wishing I could have about three more the students began coming into the room. About 25 in all they filled the small cafeteria we had transformed into a theatre that afternoon. Here in Costa Rica we are sometimes unable to hand out the Book of Hope in schools; however the GodMan film is widely accepted and used throughout the country to tell the students the truth of God’s love for them.

As I introduced the movie I told them that this was a story that has changed everyone’s life on our team. It was a story that they had to choose whether to accept or reject, they had to make a decision about what they thought about their place in the story.

After the film, the room sat quiet as we continued to speak about their choices in life and what the consequences for those decisions could be. Unable to give a salvation message to the kids we encouraged them to make good choices and live in a positive way. We told them never to forget the message they had just seen in their public school cafeteria.

We told them to remember that each one was created with a specific purpose and plan for your life, remember that God loves you and cares very much about you. As I made my way barefoot down the hill toward the boat I am comforted by the knowledge that one of the ladies we are working with will continue to follow-up with the kids at this school. In the same moment my mind switched gears to prepare for more ministry in the evening; the day isn’t finished yet as we still have two more churches to show the film at where about a hundred kids are waiting. Showers, rest and being dry will come later in the day than I was hoping.

40 Prisoners

2005-11-02T08:34:00.000-08:00

In a small rehabilitation center on the outskirts of Morelia Mexico a group of forty men slowly walk out of the confined quarters of the meeting room. Heads down, hands clasped behind their backs looking at nothing but their feet moving across the floor. They are not as much prisoners of the building as much as prisoners of the choices they’ve made in the past. They are all here trying to rebuild their lives after being addicted to alcohol or drugs.

We all came to the meeting with certain expectations about who they would be and what they would look like. This was definitely not the usual type of presentation that we’re used to at Book of Hope. All these men were all at least as old as I am or older. Definitely not the crowd we’re used to speaking to. Yet these men opened their hearts and lives to us for an hour as we presented Hope to them. We were allowed to show a movie to them about the life of Jesus. Book of Hope’s animated movie “The GodMan” may have been created to reach a younger audience than these men; yet somewhere deep inside them they knew this was their story as well. It was the story of how someone greater than them had given up everything to live among us and die in our place. That is the story that transcends time, social status, languages, cultural differences, race, gender or environmental being.

I suppose there really is no difference between those 40 men and I. We’ve all been prisoners at one time to things that we thought would bring us happiness or fulfillment, and God doesn’t judge in “shades” or levels of sin. In our world we have different types of law breaking, in His eyes it all looks the same. There is no worse sin than another, there is no smaller or less significant rule breaking. No lessening to the degree of what we’ve done against God.

I think this idea really hits when you start thinking that you’re somehow better or more holy than the people you’re speaking to. Forgetting where your passport was issued, what color your skin is or isn’t, what language you speak or where you’re from. Instead remembering what an honor it is that God would choose us to send His message. How incredible that He would let us carry this message of redemption and love. Remembering that we were just like those we are now speaking to. No better in any way, just aware of the truth that God has revealed to us.

As we finished our presentation many of the men began giving short testimonies about what God had done in their lives. Some asked simply if they could share, others just stood up and started talking. Some even tried relating their story in English, only to quickly switch to Spanish to fully detail the events.

These men have made different choices than I have in life, they were born into different circumstances and different environments. Maybe our stories would have been switched had we been born in different places. In the same way God looks at sin all the same, He now looks down and sees those 40 prisoners and I the same. His children.

Where´s the Church

2005-09-21T14:36:00.000-07:00

Seat 22C on an American Airlines flight isn’t anything that unusual to be sure. Not an exit row or over the wing, definitely not first class and not too close to the bathrooms. As I looked at my boarding pass I wondered how long this flight would be, would it be very crowded and who will I be sitting by? As I waited in the aisle of the plane I scanned down to try and count out the rows to see if I could figure out if the row was full or not.

As I neared my seat I looked to see the middle one was open and I was on the aisle, well that probably won’t last long. I greeted my fellow aisle-issued traveler with a “Hello”. As I put my bags quickly under my seat and got out of the aisle, without really thinking I asked how things were going, she surprisingly replied that her day was very crazy. Ok I thought to myself, we have come to a decision point, pursue the conversation and find out what’s going on in this girls life or let it slide and read the three magazines and type away on my computer for the rest of the flight.

I chose option one.

What followed was two hours of conversation I truly never expected to hear from such a young person. She was traveling back to be with her family in Texas after spending two months in Florida with her boyfriend. Drug-abuse, four family splits, a one year old baby boy, friends committing suicide and two trips to rehab later I sat stunned that I had just heard all this. I really didn’t know how to offer and hope to this young lady. If I was in front of 500 Guatemalan kids I could rattle off our traditional Book of Hope presentation without thinking twice. I’m a professional in what I do and how it’s to be done. I can take any audience of kids wherever you want them to go, I can play any part in any drama, do any testimony at any time, I can set-up sound systems and troubleshoot them. I’ve got experience in over 18 different nations. But what does it matter if I can’t simply explain how Christ cares and loves this girl.

We had already covered all the surface type questions, and I didn’t really know where to go from there when she asked me if I had ever been involved in drugs. I guess this was the open door I had been looking to find. I explained parts of my story and how I had never done drugs because of the effect they had on my family and friends. I told how drugs had messed up a lot of my friends and I knew that I didn’t want to do that. Then I started to tell her about God. About how He cares and loves and is a friend to people in need. How it is more than going to church and that relationship I have with God helped me avoid those bad decisions. There is a reason that I didn’t do drugs and it was because I want something better for my life.

We continued talking for much of the rest of the flight about God and the part he can play in each of our lives. During much of her story I kept wondering how her life would have been different if someone could have intervened. What would her story be like if someone from the church she was attending had cared enough to reach out. What would she be telling me today if the church had done what it is supposed to do?

It doesn’t take ministerial credentials to listen and be a caring person. That’s what the world is looking for. Someone that will take the time and be Jesus to them, they are looking for a face to put on God.

On one hand, I wanted to encourage her to find a church and people that could help her. Go back to God, find out what he has for you. Find a good church that has people that will pray for you and keep you accountable. Yet in the same moment it frightened me to think how those church members would react or treat her when they heard her story. Where is the church today? Where are the people who will take in the hurting and hopeless world? Are we too busy with committee meetings and church services trying to decide the best hymnals to sing? Are we missing the people because we’re arguing over the best program to reach them?

Our team will be traveling the next 3 months into Mexico, Costa Rica and Panama. These countries each present different challenges; but please pray specifically for open doors to schools and the local churches to be receptive to the Book of Hope ministry. Please also pray for me as I attempt to lead an intern team into the great unkown. I need God’s help daily for I know that I cannot do anything without Him.

I don’t write this with any malice or negative intentions. Only to help us all think about the people we are impacting and the lives we are commissioned to change. Be aware of the people around you, we really don’t know the impact a kind word or a listening ear can be.

Where is the church and how can we change? How can we be the refuge to the world we are meant to be?

A girl named Lyndsey in 22A would like to know.

Laughter

2005-08-21T21:38:00.000-07:00

I don’t really know when it happens along the day, but somewhere in between the fourth fifth or sixth presentation, the faces begin to be blurred by time and repetition. After you’ve been in front of thousands of students their stories, smiles, schools and uniforms all seem to mesh together to form an immense pull on your heart. A deep longing in your heart develops, a desire to be able to rescue all of them and save them from the loneliness and darkness that covers their lives. Somewhere along the day you can’t seem to get away from the realization that what you’re doing is most likely the only time in their lives when they can escape the reality in which they live.

We provide them with a short break from the day to day. We are there to rescue some and awaken others. The school assembly is our invitation to them, to leave their burdens for just a few moments.

Because those few moments are when their lives seem to be better, their father’s are home again to care for and love them, their mother’s don’t have to depend on their income of selling candy on the streets to tourists. They are not abused every morning before they leave to school and they’re not fearful of returning home that night. Those minutes when something in their hearts stirs and tells them that this is what they’ve been looking for. This message these Americans have brought brings hope where the failed relationships or the drugs and alcohol could not.

The assembly begins with some reservation, why have you come to my school? What are you going to expect from me? Soon the realization is made that there is truth in the message and the only thing the American’s expect or ask for is my attention. Then the laughter begins, things that are said or a funny face from one of the actors causes waves of it across the schoolyard.

The children’s laughter is heavy, but filled with a hidden joy. Filled with the sounds of stolen innocence being shaken off. Their laughter is full of the life that has been hidden and pressed down through their few years. The children are allowing themselves to be children. The children are allowing themselves to laugh if even just for a moment to relieve themselves of the real world they struggle to survive in. And the laughing feels good.

But then the stories continue and a message of hope is heard in it all. The opportunity to be able to understand the same joy these people have and the chance to live every day with the same peace that is present in this moment. Where and how can I find this?

As the presentation continues the anticipation builds, what is this book that you keep talking about? Who is this best friend that cares so much about you? Does he care about me as well? Tell me again that someone cares for me, that I can have a friend that will never leave me. Tell me again that someone knows my name and I have a purpose. Tell me again that everything is going to be ok. Tell me again that the things that happen to me aren’t my fault.

Everyday, in countless countries, in nameless cities and villages and counties God’s Word is being distributed to children who are hurting and searching for a message that will bring some sense of hope to their lives. Something that will bring even the smallest gleam of hope that things in life can be better.

And as I sit here writing these thoughts, the street is filled with that sound of children. I look out the window and see them running through the streets in their blue and white school uniforms with torches lit to mark a celebration of their schools anniversary. The same students that we will face in a few days are now running past my window hand in hand with each other. I hear them laughing and it brings back memories of the kids in the schools who’ve already received their books, whose lives’ have been altered. Yet in the same moment I am reminded that there are still many more.

Healing Places

2005-08-15T20:16:00.000-07:00

Healing takes place in many ways and in many different settings. It sometimes happens during times of great stress or when we step out of our comfortable lives. When we step away from our world of cell phones, iPods, computers, school, work, church and familiar places to enter their world of poverty, hopelessness, confusion and fear; we place ourselves at risk of being moved with compassion and our lives being shaken. One of the greatest motivators for doing what I do is when I see this healing first hand, sometimes within a short ten days in another country with a team of people I’ve never met.

God begins this process far before the actual trip as we are stretched and grown to trust Him for finances, environmental changes and of course the unkown. For those who dare to take these steps and follow through with these commitments there is an incredible perspective or lifestyle change waiting on the other side.

Once on the field there are breaking points that bring about another part of this healing process. Seeing a homeless person on a street can sometimes awaken us to the world around us. Watching as hundreds of students desperately read a message of truth handed to them. Sometimes it is the story of one of the children that opens our hearts to expose the wounds and thus allow God to heal the hurt, mistrust, confusion or fears that plague our lives.

God never expects perfection, but he desires wholeness, a continuing process we will never finish in this life. He desires that we be open to His voice changing and shaping us, He is making us into people He can depend on and be proud of.

When we step out and rely on the God who created us with the exact characteristics that we have we find that our stories bring this same healing and encouragement to others’ lives as well. The most amazing part about this life is that God can take us as we are, beat-up, bruised, broken and failing, to change, restore and gently piece us back together. Then He has the faith in us to let us take His hope and truth to the hurting world around us.

He believes in us enough to actually be His arms, hands and feet to carry His Love to the people we used to be. When these events take place, God can truly shine through us as He changes our story from one of defeat to one of destiny. God help us view our world always keeping Your destiny in mind.

Regardless of whether we meet again on a missions field somewhere or not, I trust that God will lead and direct each of you in your lives.

Travis the Money Changer, Phil (We need God in America), P.Van, Francisco Mi Héroe, Rhoda Letter, Messy Jessie, Meghann (if you start feeling sick… too late), Victoria (Walk of Lifer), Sarina Beana, Abby (the flirt), Autumn (look at that!), Melissa (Horchata mmmm), Ashley (stop licking toes), Sonia (close your eyes) and Felicia (always cool stories)…

As I watched your plane taxi and then take off into the blue rain-clouded Guatemala City skies I thought about this; God called each of you away from the ordinary, normal, everyday life to live for ten days in the extraordinary world beyond your borders. As you sit at your computers reading this at home or work or school, His question still remains:

“How much more can you give”?

Vaya con Dios

Exit Row

2005-07-31T10:52:00.000-07:00

On my most recent trip from California to Florida, I was sitting on an Exit Row where the leg-room is better, but the seats didn't recline. No worries I thought, it was only about a 3 hour flight, I've endured worse than that.

The two girls sitting behind me obviously hadn't been on an exit row seat before so they were a little taken by the spacious seating and emergency procedures they would be required to fulfill.

As I listened to them talk I heard them mention they were SO glad to be returning home to Florida from a long trip of vacation and shopping. I mean it just sounded appalling that they had done all this shopping at Hollister (the store not the city) and Abercrombie and Fitch where they got all sorts of new clothes. The worst part of the trip was when they had gone to Nordstrom Rack and found two pair of shoes at $80 a piece that their mom wouldn't let them purchase, what insolence that their mother would do something like that.

I think two things trouble me about overhearing their conversation, which they weren't trying to keep quiet so I don't feel as bad about hearing what they were saying.

1. If an emergency had arisen and these girls had to help people exit the plane; would they have been more concerned with their iPods, shopping bags and Couture purses than with helping the passengers get out safely? Would I have more concern for others' safety than for my things? Would you?

2. Listening to them talk I wondered what I spend time talking about. Do I sound the same to others who listen to my conversations? If we recorded everything that we said during the day, would we want to listen to ourselves at night?

No offense intended to those who buy those brands of clothes, but I sure hope it doesn't become something more important to you than those precious few moments we could be spending with God.

Being There

2005-06-17T14:30:00.000-07:00

Imagine something with me. Think of a 100 by 50 foot run-down, dirt-floored school cafeteria/assembly hall. Imagine no glass in the windows, old wooden tables and benches, you sitting at the place of “honor”—near the front, against an old wall that must have been painted ten years ago. You’re at the first school you’ve ever been to in Masaka, Uganda. Now imagine the kids, at least five hundred of them: coal black eyes, dark skin, all with the similar close-cut hair which takes away any clue as to gender. All wear school uniforms, or parts of them, or whatever clothing they could find. The school choir assembles and begins to sing a song. You hear the words and your vision becomes clouded with tears as you realize they are welcoming you to their school. They are welcoming you to their school for orphans, from 1 to 18 years old. These are children who’ve lost their parents to AIDS.

The song goes something like this: “We are happy to receive you here, welcome, welcome, welcome”. As the choir sings, a few children step forward and explain about their lives and ask you to pray for them. Then they step back into the choir and the song resumes.

For a moment you think to take a picture. How else can you truly relate this story or this event to the people at home? If you could just pack up everything—the children, the percussion players, the teachers—and bring them all back home to your church to share with everyone. If you could somehow show people what your life is really like: the smells, the sights, the sounds and the experiences. Then it would capture their hearts the way it’s captured yours. I wish you could have been there with me.

For some of us at Book of Hope, this is what we do. This is what we gave up family, jobs, careers and homes for. This is our calling. This is where we feel God has placed us for this time. This is where we bring our lives to try and figure out how we’re going to reach the millions of children in Europe, Africa, Russia, Asia, South and North America. Our responsibility is to train and teach the local churches how they can effectively reach their neighborhoods and communities with the Book of Hope.

Many times our task begins by trying to explain the importance of children’s ministries to the church. It amazes me to hear pastors and workers tell us that the children aren’t that important, that they don’t help pay tithes so they shouldn’t be regarded as part of the church. Part of our responsibility and training is to show how much value the Book of Hope has in reaching children, and how those children can in turn reach their families.

In August I will have been with Book of Hope four years. It’s amazing to look back and think of all the places I’ve been and all the people I’ve met. I can see all the changes that have taken place in my life and in the lives of the people around me. My brother Micah recently got married. He and Michelle met on a summer intern trip in 2002. As I look through pictures of that trip, I don’t feel any sense of loss or doubt about what I am doing.

I am giving my life to something that will truly make a difference in the lives of thousands of children around the world. I believe that God has called me here, and that the time I’ve spent with Book of Hope has been powerfully invested in something beyond this life. This is an investment in things that will never fade.

So back to Masaka and the school: as the song finishes, you realize the children are all looking at you. You wipe tears from your cheeks. You are expected to minister to them. This is what you are here for. This is what you traveled 8,000 miles and 10 different time zones for. Yet as you sit there contemplating what to say, you realize that these children have touched a part of your heart and soul in a way that can never be repaid. I’m so glad you could be there with me.

During the Spring semester of 2005 our intern teams were in over eight different countries, trained over 1000 local church members and distributed over 200,000 Books of Hope to students.

Washing feet...

2005-04-26T03:22:00.000-07:00

"Five minutes, that's all, very close" I was assured that the hotel I was looking for was just walking distance down the road. I suppose I could just walk there then. If it's just down the road and it's on this side of the street. "Five minutes?" I asked. "Yes, very close", the front desk guy says.

I guess by now I should know that words like five and minutes are subjective terms, meaning they can change depending on the person you're talking to and the subjects being spoken of.

As I left the comfort of the air conditioned lobby, I nimbly dodged the construction work going on directly outside the hotel. It looks like a new sidewalk is being made, but not knowing anything about road work I guess it's necessary to remove most of the street as well.

Smells and sights and sounds, lots of sounds explode my senses, it's like the entire community is out today on this road at this exact time with a place to go and people to push out of the way. I didn't feel threatened or anything, the situation just takes your emotional world up a few notches. About thirty minutes into the walk I come to the conclusion that I've missed the place and turn around to head back. Then up in the distance I see the sign, I don't remember if he told me that you could only see it from the back, no, now that I think about it, he didn't. I guess he was honest when he said five minutes, but it seemed like a really long, hot, dusty, loud, smelly five minutes for sure.

It's amazing to me the contrasts that you can see here. Huge buildings rise up in front of you, people in shirts and ties running into them and then right next door, literally, directly next to the building you see children playing in the garbage piles, their parents sifting through looking for something valuable.

And yet here I am in the midst of it all, trying in vain to figure out some way to help, some way to begin to understand how to reach these people. I've been sent to serve. I've been sent to try and show people who Jesus is and how much he loves them. I've been sent to wash their feet and show them that I too am a person in need of Christ, no more or less important than them. Our lives and languages and citizenship may be different, but we're all the same the same price was paid for each of us. So I've been given a message and a command, to take this story to the children. Tell them there is a friend, a father, a future for each of them sitting near the King of all Kings. Being held by the Father who will never leave them and will always love them. This is the message I've been sent to give.

India is an incredible place, nothing can prepare you for coming here, and it will leave marks on your heart that will never go away.

As Fast As The Crow Flies

2005-04-13T18:13:00.000-07:00

As fast as the crow flies, I thought to myself. Our train was leaving the station as I watched this big black bird glide alongside us. His life probably spent near the train station growing accustomed to the slow moving machines harboring his observer. Amazing I thought, he’ll never know anything more than this train station, although he can fly above the cities and look over them all; he’ll never see past his immediate surroundings or think past his next meal. He doesn’t know how big the world is or about all the other places and people living in it. He’ll never understand politics, work, traffic, school, marriage or governments. He doesn’t think about tomorrow or the problems it may hold. Oh to be a crow.

Wouldn’t it be great to live his life and be able to leave the worries and troubles of life and live for the day? To be able to forget about the fears, worries and doubts that plague this existence. Just for one day, one single day to be able to gaze down on the world and the cities without concerns or cares. What would that be like? Just to be a crow.

He’ll never understand my world; he’ll never understand my life or my experiences. Even if I tried telling him about all the things he’ll never know about, he’d just flap his wings and wonder why I wasn’t throwing him any bread.

Never knowing sadness, loneliness, emptiness, joy, happiness, excitement, or love. He’ll never know the experience of other cultures or eating food that you don’t like. He’ll never understand what it’s like to give a child a Book of Hope, to do a school assembly, give a testimony or perform a drama; he’ll never see lives changed. He’ll never hear God speak or see his work. To be a crow is to never have any purpose or any dreams for your life, no drive or ambition, no one to fight for or look forward to seeing or hearing from.

For those of us who’ve experienced these Book of Hope events in life, would you trade them? If someone said you could trade everything you have right now for the life of an average bird; would you give everything up for a life of simple existence? Would you want it?

Thank you God, that I’m not a crow. Thank you that you’ve created me with a purpose and a story to tell. Thank you that you’ve created a new heart in me and entrusted me to spread the message of your love and truth to hundreds of young people around the world. Thank you that I’m not a crow. Flying there looking across the tracks at some big machine moving as fast as I am; wondering about what that tall person is thinking while watching me… thinking about more important things like… lunch.

Breaking and Entering

2005-03-03T08:15:00.000-08:00

It's hard to imagine someone literally closing a door in your face. It's hard to imagine turning away someone who is trying to improve the lives of the very children you are there to protect. It's hard to imagine the absolute frustration I felt when I left her office.

The situation had turned bad when the religion teacher met with us and reluctantly "agreed" to let us distribute the Books of Hope in the schools. After all, we'd been there since that morning in the classrooms, why would there be any problem now? Time froze for me when the representative from the mayor's office returned moments later and said we could not give the students the books, a complete change, within moments. I asked to speak to the director myself knowing that I would not just lie down and take the defeat.

As we entered the small ten-foot by ten-foot office, I sensed quickly that the director had made up her mind, or someone had made it for her, and that it was not going to change. She informed me that we could leave the books in the library, from there the kids could check them out if they wanted and she started to arrange the papers for the correct signatures. I put my foot down, trying to keep the door open, trying to think of the options we had.

I asked for the reason, why was this door closing? What's happening here God? Show me, talk to me. The teachers don't want distractions, they're too busy, I knew she was not being truthful, every teacher was excited for us to be there, except the one whoís voice and influence was the loudest. I reached for the door handle, hoping to turn it or push it the other direction, but I think I missed.

We agreed to allow some books to stay in the school library, but not the 280 that we should have given to the kids. A compromise? Yes I think it was, I nearly cried when I got back with my team. I felt absolutely defeated. What is it God? What am I supposed to learn here?

I wish each of these stories had a happy ending. The reality though is that a door was closed today, and I felt responsible for not being able to keep it open. I knew that I did everything that I could do, and those negative thoughts and attitudes that I started feeling did not come from God. He was with us today, and he knows the childrenís names that still need to know about His truth.

As one door closes to us, another is being opened. Not only opened, but welcomed with open arms. You see, in one classroom, in the school right next door, one teacher is taking our ministry one step farther. She told her students that tomorrow they would take an hour of class time to discuss the Book of Hope. They would take the time they should've been learning about Economics, to instead learn about Life; to learn about God. They will read about His plan for their lives, His eternal Truths and His love. Is that what you're teaching me? That your timing is perfect? That you're working even when I feel I'm not?

After we've gone and someday forgotten about the most of the details and events of the city, God still has every child's name written somewhere. He has each of their hearts held gently and pulling them towards himself. There is comfort knowing that many of those kids have been called by Him to do incredible things.

When one door closes, I donít stop knocking on others. For someday God will require of us an account of how many doors we tried to open, and I don't want to start thinking of excuses.

There is surely a future Hope for you, and your Hope will not be cut off.
Proverbs 23:18

Frozen Shocks

2005-02-06T15:02:00.000-08:00

I know for sure that her shocks were frozen and completely worn out. Riding in an ’84 Audi 80 on snow-covered roads with a sixty four year old Romanian woman driving only assures me this is not a normal life. Not that I want it to be either.

We met her near her home, right at the corner where the trams follow a lazy turn. I vouched for us to cross the street to stand in the sun; it’s still cold here. As we waited I looked to see this older woman approaching us, not being sure it was her I half- smiled as she walked up. “Pace” She says. I return the greeting. Except now I know it’s her. Pace (pronounced pah-che) means Peace in Romanian, a traditional greeting that church people use with each other. I’ve heard that after Jesus rose, he greeted everyone this way, although I haven’t confirmed that, I’ll do my best to be appropriate to the right people.

As I exchange the greeting with her she says in broken English “Good to meet you”. Leave it to everyone else to out- do us in knowing other languages. Here she stands with her white fur coat and jet black curly hair exploring the world from under the brim of her brown fur hat. She points towards a vehicle parked by the road. I can’t tell if the car is white or it’s just all the snow. Dora explains that it will be easier to drive to the church than to walk. As I make the hand sign for shoveling snow, I think to myself that maybe that’s not true.

So we traverse the piles of snow nearly consuming her car from all sides. She gets in and attempts to start the car at least twelve times, finally as the car clunks and sputters, she heads it out onto the street, as Steve goes for one door and I go for the other she motions that only Steve’s door works. Hmmm, should I ask about the brakes?

So the story goes, and we go, down the street, the back shocks or something making quite a bit of noise the entire time. Sounding like someone is being dragged under the car and only hits the bottom of the trunk when we go over bumps, yah, something like that.

Well we made it, she had to get out a couple times and clean off her windshield. At one point spraying some imitation Windex onto the front and back. I would’ve been glad to get out and help, but I was between Steve and the non- working door. I guess I could’ve climbed over Steve but the fact that her grand- daughter sitting on her brother’s lap between the door and Steve somewhat blocked my pathway. Yes indeed, this is the life I choose to live, a life of interesting times, people, places and strange events.

But it’s the life I love. Investing time in something that will never fade away. Giving your life to children and giving them Hope. This is the work that will truly make a difference and will really matter. A life of simple adventure and the unknown, challenges waiting at every corner. Even when you really think that everything is planned and prepared, someone asks you to speak at a Baptist Pastor’s meeting. Yes, just when you think it’s all planned out.

Well, thanks for reading to this part.

That’s it.

Excitement is an anxiety killer... I think

2005-01-24T07:46:00.000-08:00

What's going on...

This next trip will be to Romania, Ukraine and Uganda

As excited as I am about the whole trip, we've been faced with some interesting challenges. While in Romania we have two meetings that have been keeping me up at night.

One is with the director of a ministry that works in many countries around the world doing children's ministry. We want to explore the relationship between the Book of Hope and their ministry. How they could use the Book of Hope to reach out to students that we cannot reach.

The other meeting is with a District School Director. Basically this is the person who can give us permission to go into all the shools in his district. Possibly thousands of schools, and hundreds of thousands of kids could receive the Book of Hope with his approval.

Uganda is now called the "Birthplace of Aids" Many people believe that it can be traced back to a single town. Please pray for our team as we enter a culture almost destroyed by this deadly disease.

So maybe excitement isn't the killer, but the promoter. Either way, I keep waking up before my alarm, ugh.

Change is the only certain thing.

2005-01-14T09:30:00.000-08:00

If life was certain then it wouldn't be any fun. There wouldn't be any adventure, no surprises no twists and turns. When I arrived here in Florida thinking that I would be travelling to India this Spring, I was shocked to find out that instead, we'd be going to Romania, Ukraine and Uganda. I guess India will have to wait.

Imagine what it would really be like knowing our future, knowing where you're going, who you'll meet and what will happen. It's comforting knowing that even with the crazy world we live in, there is God who looks at us and smiles, cries, grieves and maybe even shows us off to a few of his friends. It's nice to know that my life is safe in his hands, my life is unstoppable until his goal is accomplished with this me in this world. It's good going to sleep at night knowing that there's someone next to me helping to figure out what it's all about, giving me a purpose and a calling.

At least, that's what I think. Hope you like the pictures!

2% or Nuthin!

2004-12-27T17:47:00.000-08:00

Whoever dared to come up with the idea of 1% or fat free milk should be shot. Not necessarily with a gun, but maybe with a really big rubber band. Ugh. Just the thought of watery milk is really gross. I guess I shouldn't be biased or anything. But for the real enjoyment of drinking milk, it's best when it goes down heavy. Mmmmmm.

Christmas is over. It looks like all the malls and shopping centers are filled with people looking for bargains and returning items left and right. I am so glad that for my family and I we know the real meaning of what this time is about... PRESENTS!! No not really. When you take away the gifts and the tree and the lights, I still have my family. I still have a wonderful family that loves and supports and cares for each other. That joy comes from Jesus Christ. The fact that God lives in each one of us unites us as a family. So I guess this entry isn't really all that much about 2% or what, it's about how grateful I am for the amazing people I have in my life.

On my way to hug my mom...

Hot Key Heroes

2004-12-22T22:39:00.000-08:00

I always wanted to name a band that. HKH. Man that would be so cool.
I'm trying my hardest to get some pictures onto this site. I have some good ones from Africa and other places, but I just need to edit them and get them going. I love what I get to do. Meeting people from other countries and teaching kids about decisions and choices. It's amazing to see how much of an influence America has on so many other nations. The youth in other countries unfortunately are looking to us for answers and guidance. They see us on TV and they think that's how we all live. Perfect family, perfect home, nice cars, lots of money and all our problems are solved within thirty minutes. If there is anyone out there in the US with that kind of life please let me know, a lot of kids in other countries would like to meet you.

I'm heading to Romania and India in the Spring time. I'm excited about both of those places. My mom is already telling me about all the things I can bring home to her from India. Great.

Ok.
Hot Key Heroes. With the title track "Shortcut"... yah rock on.

Airports at Christmas Time?... oooh the Magic!

2004-12-21T16:29:00.000-08:00

Well if you didn't catch the sarcasm in that title try reading it again. Actually I'm in the Pittsburgh airport right now and they've got a wireless connection near the B28 gate which is where I'm waiting. Power and Access, what else could I ask for right now? Well maybe a more comfortable chair.

I got off the plane from Fort Lauderdale and started looking around for my next gate. Luckily I didn't walk very far after soon realizing that I was already standing at it... the infamous B28. Hmmm sounds like a sandwich or a football play or something.

Everything's going pretty well though. Most of the people are being nice, except some. I really get fired up when people get mad at the service desk representatives. I remember many years working in the "messenger" role. Let's all wear a smile and not get mad at the person standing behind the desk who can't fix anything just because you raise your voice.

I think that's about all for now. I am amazed by the amount of people who've passed by me in this airport. There are a lot of people in the world. Many who might not ever realize that Christmas is more than just a tree, shopping, sales, presents and songs. Find out what the meaning is, find out who it's about. Not what we do, but why.

This is Matt Woody, signing off from B28

Where it's at.

2004-12-20T23:48:00.000-08:00

What in life will really last? In the end, will we be happier knowing that we gave our lives to help improve other's lives? Will we regret more what we did? Or those things that we didn't do?

I guess if you're going to start reading, maybe I should start where I'm at right now.

My home is in California, with my mom, three younger brothers and about five cats. I work in Florida with a missions organization called Book of Hope. www.bookofhope.net I travel around the world so I'm only in the states about 3 or 4 months of the year.

BOH is a missions organization that works in schools all over the world doing anti-drug and alcohol presentations. We present music, dramas and stories of our lives about the power of choices and morals. We also present each student with a copy of the Book of Hope.

What is the Book of Hope?

It's Matthew, Mark, Luke and John all put together in order to present Jesus' life in a way that students can relate to and understand. Regardless of your religious beliefs, I think we can all agree that Jesus, even though he lived long ago, he led a good life and can be regarded as a person of good character.

Currently BOH is involved in over 100 countries around the world, and the Book of Hope has been translated into over 60 different languages. Which means that we distribute a whole lot of books each year.

I get to travel to countries and help train and organize the local churches and student groups to do presentations in the schools of their city. So it's not the big smart Americans that come in to show everyone what we can do, it's people within the country doing the work.

So that's my work right now. I don't consider it a job. I get to talk to students all over the world. To hear them laugh, ask questions, see them smile and visit new places. It's really incredible. To be able to give your life to something that I know will make an eternal change in some young people.

...and Jesus is so much more than just a good moral person... find out...

My new blog, Woohoo!

2004-12-20T11:37:00.000-08:00

This is my first post. I like Blogger!
It's kind of weird that someone might be reading this someday. I'll get more stuff up on this site.
Basically I think i'll keep it to stuff that happens out in the world. Travel and stories and people I meet. Let me know what you want to know about!

Here's a start,
Countries I've travelled to:

Honduras
Guatemala
Ecuador
Peru
Poland
Slovakia
Russia
Portugal
Bulgaria
Romania
Brazil
Kenya
Tanzania
Argentina

Not in that order and I think there are more. These are only the countries that I've done Book of Hope work in. Let me know if you have questions!