Life is never smooth!

Inside the Looking Glass?

"Never imagine yourself not to be otherwise than what it might appear to others that what you were or might have been was not otherwise than what you had been would have appeared to them to be otherwise." -- The Duchess to Alice

Alice In Wonderland

by Lewis Carroll

I can totally identify with Alice and her upsidedown, insideout, backward world. With visitors from Central America, I've been miscommunicating, misunderstanding, misunderstood and in general living on two separate planes, trying to find one another.

There's a marvelous little book by Sarah A. Lanier called Foreign to Familiar: A Guide to Understanding Hot - And Cold - Climate Cultures. She then divides the world's cultureds into two basic categories (hot climate and cold climate) and then discusses the differences in the categories. While it is not, nor does it pretend to be, a definitive text on cross-cultural communication, her anecdotes and explanations ring true.

An example that most people are aware of is that time designations are different. In a cold climate culture, time is of the utmost importance. Two p.m. means two p.m. not two-thirty or three, anyone who has missed a doctors appointment and been charged accordingly understands that. In a hot climate culture, a two p.m. wedding begins (at two p.m.) when the bride starts to dress, the guests start to get ready for the wedding. What a cold climate person would consider to be the "real" event (the bride walks down the aisle) might not begin until 3:30 or 4 p.m. A Norwegian would be on the steps of the church at 1:50 p.m. waiting for a 2 p.m. wedding to start, while the Jamacian (for example) would know to start getting ready at two p.m. Isn't that an interesting look at it?

Another difference is that in a hot climate culture, one person (the highest ranking one) speaks for the group. While in a cold climate culture decisions are made by collaboration. Even in the situation where one person is responsible for the decision, a wise leader consults his team members (listens carefully to their ideas and then informs them of his decision) before making a committment to a particular course of action. But in a hot climate culture, team members may not particularly want the responsibility of offering suggestions. They would lose face if a final decision were different that their opinion, so the decision is left up to the all-wise (we hope) leader. On the other hand, in a cold climate culture decisions are made by collaboration while in a hot climate culture, one person speaks for the group. Which would mean that an American pastor's family who is told by a "Hot Climate" bishop just as he's departing for a week in another state, "we've decided that my wife will stay in your house for a week because she is afraid in the [lovely, spacious] house you've provided for her to stay with our two grown sons [a twenty-three year old and a fifteen year old]" is expected to say "Mi casa es su casa."

Whoops! Anybody who knows me will know they picked the wrong pastor's family to try that on. While I do understand the cultural differences, I shall try to educate that bishop. (Did I really say that??) My logic being that if he and his family are traveling in the U.S. for extended periods of time, it's important that he learn the ways of this land (A cold climate culture) and make some accomodations. Flexibility is the name of the game.

But dancing these kind of relationship dances is not my cup of tea. While in another country I make every effort to flex to the culture there, (four hour services every night, conferences every day with thirty minutes to freshen up; the main meal after service each night, about midnight and be ready to give conference classes by 8 a.m. the next morning) I must, in the name of sanity, insist on some flexibility in return whenever they are visiting in our (cold climate culture) home.

And while in the words of Alice I "never imagine myself not to be otherwise than what it might appear to others that what I was or might have been is not otherwise than what I had been would appear to them to be otherwise." I shall proceed with utmost caution and (I hope) humility, I shall proceed.

Toward cross-cultural communication!

PJ

"He restoreth my soul"

Psalm 23:2

On June 22 (Tuesdays are Terrific) I wrote about Pastor Michael Cole's sermon on restoration and described the life of a man being restored. Tonight Pastor Cole was back again for "Tuesdays are Terrific." Tommy had served God with this congregation in the 70's then fallen away, fallen on hard times and has come back to God. He's struggling; the battle is fierce, but we serve Jehovah Nissi, "God is our Victory".

Tonight another young woman was here. She received the Holy Spirit in the 80's, was a vital part of the youth group here for several years, and tonight she returned. Jehovah Nissi, "God is our Victory." God is calling. God is restoring.

Joel 2:25

And I will restore to you the years that the locust hath eaten, the cankerworm, and the caterpiller, and the palmerworm, my great army which I sent among you.

Prior to this promise, there was an instruction:

Blow the trumpet in Zion, sanctify a fast, call a solemn assembly: Gather the people, sanctify the congregation, assemble the elders, gather the children, . . . Let the priests, the ministers of the LORD, weep between the porch and the altar, and let them say, Spare thy people, O LORD, and give not thine heritage to reproach, that the heathen should rule over them: wherefore should they say among the people, Where is their God? (Joel 2:15-17)

And then still later in the chapter is the scripture that Peter used to preach on the day of Pentecost (Acts 2:16), "This is that that was spoken by the prophet Joel,

"And it shall come to pass afterward, that I will pour out my spirit upon all flesh; and your sons and your daughters shall prophesy, your old men shall dream dreams, your young men shall see visions: 29 And also upon the servants and upon the handmaids in those days will I pour out my spirit. (Joel 2:28-29 AND Acts 2:17-18)

As surely as he has poured out his spirit in the past, he is doing so again today! He has done great things and continues to demonstrate HIS power.

Tuesdays are Terrific!!

(For Heritage week events, see www.jccelgin.org)

Harnessing the Power of the Human Spirit

The human spirit is such a powerful force. Finding a way to harness that power is much like discovering how to make an internal combustion engine and unlease the power of gasoline. David did just that with his heartfelt Psalms. He wrote openly and honestly about his desperation and distress (See Psalm 77, this blog) but he also learned how to progress beyond that despair.

Psalm 63 is a good example of that progression:

Psalm 63

O God, you are my God,

earnestly I seek you;

my soul thirsts for you,

my body longs for you,

in a dry and weary land where there is no water.

I have seen you in the sanctuary a

and beheld your power and your glory.

Because your love is better than life,

my lips will glorify you.

I will praise you as long as I live,

and in your name I will lift up my hands.

My soul will be satisfied as with the richest of foods;

with singing lips my mouth will praise you.

On my bed I remember you;

I think of you through the watches of the night.

He begins with a lament colored by the situation in which he finds himself, in the Desert of Judah. "I thirst for you, my body longs for you, in a dry and weary land."

He then remembers what God has been to him in the past, "I have ... beheld your power and your glory."

Next he recognizes what God is to him in the present and makes a commitment to praise God, "Because your love is better than life, my lips will glorify you."

Finally he can lift himself above the present circumstances and declare, "I will praise you as long as I live."

He also commits to a physical action to praise God "and in your name I will lift up my hands."

This progression of lament, praise, and physical response to God can be seen through the book of Psalms in varying patterns. David was called "A man after God's own heart" in spite of grievious sin. He also had to pay a consequence for that sin: He was not allowed to build the Temple.

This ability to raise above circumstances through prayer and praise served David well. He also was able to recognize his errors, accept responsibilty and carry his grief to God. We see his repentance clearly in Psalm 51. It is often said that the major difference between David and Saul was David's ability to accept responsibility and to repent for his mistakes.

David knew the secret to harnassing the power of his human spirit. He took his trouble to God; he acknowledged God's past intervention in his life and then was able to praise God, usually in a physical way. With praise for God on his lips, David could then reaffirm his faith that God would continue to direct his paths.

David often speaks of praising God with a "new song." I particularly like Psalm 149:1-9:

Praise ye the Lord.

Sing unto the Lord a new song

And his praise in the congregation of sants

let Israel rejoice in him that made him

let the children of Zion be joyful in their King

Let them praise his name in the ance

Let them sing praises unto him with the timbrel and harp

For the Lord taketh pleasure in his people

he will beautify the meek with salvation

let the saints be joyful in glory

Let them sing aloud upon their beds.

So for this week, let us follow David's pattern. When the stresses of life hit:

Let God know, loud and clear your feelings on the matter

Then move to thinking about what God has done for you

And Praise him for that

Choose a physical method of praise:

lift your hands

clap your hands

sing

dance (no one is watching)

Then acknowledge God's presence in your present situation

Allow His presence, His Spirit to flood your spirit

His peace will come!

Proverbs 20:27

The spirit of a man is the candle of the Lord,

Searching all the inner depths of his heart

Psalm 18:28

For Thou wilt light my candle

The Lord my God will enlighten my darkness

So often we use our human spirit for anger, stubborness, rebellion. It takes a concerted effort to harness that power in praise. BUT...marvelous things happen when we do.

Be exuberant in Praise

Bask in His presence

Live Joyfully in spite of it all!

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Don't miss new Heritage photos: http://www.jccelgin.org

then Heritage Weekend/Do you Remember?

Psalm 77

The Message

Verses 1-6

Listen, dear friends, to God's truth, bend your ears to what I tell you. I'm chewing on the morsel of a proverb; I'll let you in on the sweet old truths, Stories we heard from our fathers, counsel we learned at our mother's knee. We're not keeping this to ourselves, we're passing it along to the next generation— God's fame and fortune, the marvelous things he has done. He planted a witness in Jacob, set his Word firmly in Israel, Then commanded our parents to teach it to their children So the next generation would know, and all the generations to come— Know the truth and tell the stories so their children can trust in God, Never forget the works of God but keep his commands to the letter.

*****Then, the people disobeyed God. He forgave them. They still transgressed. Finally God had enough.***

Verse 65-72

Suddenly the Lord was up on his feet like someone roused from deep sleep, shouting like a drunken warrior. He hit his enemies hard, sent them running, yelping, not daring to look back. He disqualified Joseph as leader, told Ephraim he didn't have what it takes, And chose the Tribe of Judah instead, Mount Zion, which he loves so much. He built his sanctuary there, resplendent, solid and lasting as the earth itself. Then he chose David, his servant, handpicked him from his work in the sheep pens. One day he was caring for the ewes and their lambs, the next day God had him shepherding Jacob, his people Israel, his prize possession. His good heart made him a good shepherd; he guided the people wisely and well.

"But I don't Feel like it"

Did you ever have one of those days in which everything felt wrong, yet there was really nothing major amiss? A dizzy day, an anxious day, a down day, a negative thought day. I had one last week.

For no real reason, I couldn't sleep, couldn't think, couldn't function normally. Several times that day, I went over to the church for awhile to play the piano, to meditate, (my state of mind wouldn't even let me pray) just to calm myself down.

That day I was positive that nobody loved me, not even God, for after all if I was so unlovable to myself, how could anyone else stand me. Fortunately, I knew that it was only a battle, only a day (or sometimes a few). I knew to hold on. I knew that, I could "lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my help.
My help cometh from the LORD, which made heaven and earth. He will not suffer thy foot to be moved: he that keepeth thee will not slumber." (Psalms 121:1-3)

I knew it, but didn't feel it. It felt like God was on vacation, or at least taking a nap. Our culture has served us badly by placing so much emphasis on the feeling of a situation or a time, or an era. We are regularly encouraged by popular culture to follow our feelings while scripture exhorts us to follow knowledge and obey. "For though we walk in the flesh, we do not war after the flesh; (for the weapons of our wafare are not carnal, but mighty through God to the pulling down of strongholds); casting down imaginations, and every high thing that exalteth itself against the knowledge of God, and bringing into captivity every thought to the obedience of Christ" (II Corinthians 10:3-5)

What "imaginations" need pulling down today? What feelings have exalted themselves against the knowledge of God? What thoughts need to be taken captive?

Prayer: Today and everyday, God, help me to remember that the major battlefield is that of my mind. Give me the courage and wisdom to recognize the battle and take action.

Thirty-Seven Cents

God uses the simplest things to teach me. Not long ago we had a couple of new children for a children's activity. They had recently moved here from out of state and were excited about the trip here. The family didn't yet have a car, but their dad had walked them to the activity and walked to get them at the end.

Because it wasn't a regular church service, the teachers didn't do an offering time in the classes.
At the end of the activity before they left, they tentatively approached the pastor saying, "Our Dad gave us money for the offering, but the teachers didn't take one. Will you be sure that the church gets this?" And with outstretched hand they offered thirty-seven cents.

And I wonder, how long has it been since I offered anything so valuable to the Lord?

PJDH

THE SCARS OF LIFE

Some years ago, on a hot summer day in south Florida, a little boy decided to go for a swim in the old swimming hole behind his house. In a hurry to dive into the cool water, he ran out the back door, leaving behind shoes, socks, and shirt as he went.

He flew into the water, not realizing that as he swam toward the middle of the lake, an alligator was swimming toward the shore.

His father working in the yard saw the two as they got closer and closer together. In utter fear, he ran toward the water, yelling to his son as loudly as he could.

Hearing his voice, the little boy became alarmed and made a U-turn to swim to his father. It was too late. Just as he reached his father, the alligator reached him. From the dock, the father grabbed his little boy by the arms just as the alligator snatched his legs. That began an incredible tug-of-war between the two. The alligator was much stronger than the father, but the father was much too passionate to let go. A farmer happened to drive by, heard his screams, raced from his truck, took aim and shot the alligator.

Remarkably, after weeks and weeks in the hospital, the little boy survived. His legs were extremely scarred by the vicious attack of the animal. And, on his arms, were deep scratches where his father's fingernails dug into his flesh in his effort to hang on to the son he loved.

The newspaper reporter who interviewed the boy after the trauma, asked if he would show him his scars. The boy lifted his pant legs. And then, with obvious pride, he said to the reporter, "But look at my arms. I have great scars on my arms, too. I have them because my Dad wouldn't let go."

You and I can identify with that little boy. We have scars, too. No, not from an alligator, but the scars of a painful past. Some of those scars are unsightly and have caused us deep regret. But, some wounds, my friend, are because God has refused to let go. In the midst of your struggle, He's been there holding on to you.

The Scripture teaches that God loves you. You are a child of God He wants to protect you and provide for you in every way But sometimes we foolishly wade into dangerous situations, not knowing what lies ahead. The swimming hole of life is filled with peril - and we forget that the enemyI is waiting to attack. That's when the tug-of-war begins - and if you have the scars of His love on your arms, be very, very grateful. He did not and will not ever let you go.

Never judge another person’s scars, because you don't know how they got them.

I received this in an email. It touched me today, so I wanted to share the story with you. I tried finding the origin to give credit to the author. However, I could not find the original. I did find a hard rock, heavy metal band named "Scars of Life". Somehow that name as an identity saddens me. But I digress.

Hope this little tale is as meaningful to you as it was to me.

PJDH

God looks down from heaven on the sons of men to see if there are any who understand, any who seek God. - Psalm 53:2
(for the full panoramic picture, click below)

http://framboise78.free.fr/Paris.htm

PARIS BY NIGHT is a sight to stun the senses. It is absolutely intoxicating to breath the night air, to take in the marvelous vistas from L'Arc de Triomphe to L'Tour Eiffel, from the Champs Ellysee to La Basilique de Sacre Coeur de Montmartre.

The thing that struck me about this marvelous parorama is that in these building along the streets, people live in the shadow of greatness, in the shadow of art and beauty, in the shadow of stunning triumphs of architecture and human creativity. I can clearly see the living room of an apartment, a lovely apartment. But I also know that the inhabitants don't exclaim daily about the beauty of the view, the marvels of Paris architecture. No, they talk about the high price of housing, the cost of utilities, the difficulties of commuting. Maybe they sometimes converse about the dangers of the trains, the bombs in Spain, London and India. They may decry or endorse the politics of the day. But the greatness around them dissolves into daily existence.

I was a tourist in Paris. For me, the beauties, the triumphs of creativity, the art everywhere left me awestruck, open-mouthed almost, in wonder. Especially Paris at night. There's absolutely nothing like it. I so remember breathing a prayer thanking God for the creativity of man, the beauty He has allowed us to build. But they live with it every day.

And then I think, what are the beauties around me? What are the wonders of his hand? What wonders of the universe or creation of His creation am I missing? What are the daily blessings that I overlook as I worry about the minutiae of the day?

How much of my Pentecostal heritage do I simply take for granted. We become so accustomed to the manifest presence of God who graces our services, who is with us when two or three gather together. Do I understand? Do I give time to the important amidst the frenetic race to attend to the urgent?

God looks down from heaven on the sons of men to see if there are any who understand, any who seek God. - Psalm 53:2

Give me understanding, Oh God. Help me remember to seek you faithfully, continuously.

PJDH

This is another service from the same era (1970's) in a much more civilized spot. We had pews made of 2 x 4's or sometimes 2 x 6's and we did have a p.a. system. I looked for a picture from the remote spot, but couldn't find it at this moment.

I love the internet. We've spent the last few days brainstorming ways to alleviate the sound problems that we're having in the church auditorium. With a perfect rectangular-box building, we have problems with standing waves, echoes, excess reverberation noise and bass control (so they tell me). I only know that if the monitors are up loud enough to satisfy the musicians, the noise bounces off the front wall into the congregation and mixes with the sound from the speakers muddying (good technical term!) the sound and increasing the volume (bad combination). And if the monitors are soft enough to avoid that echo and maintain a comfortable volume for the congregants, then the singers can't hear themselves sing. That's not so comfortable.

I love the internet because with some time and a few keystrokes, we've hit on a simple, low cost plan to try in lieu of spending $16,000 on a consultant and accoustical panels.

But it started me thinking over years of "churching" experience and made me laugh: we've come a long way! When I was 13, my mother, the church pianist died, and I inherited her spot, or rather I shared it with a dear little lady who was tone deaf and often changed keys in the middle of a song. She usually played on Sunday morning while on Sunday evening I reigned supreme. Sitting with my back to the congregation, the song leader in my mirror view, I banged away on the ivories. Banging it was. We sang without any P.A. system and didn't need any. The rafters rang in our little thirty-by-thirty frame building set at a crossroads in the middle of nowhere. But we sang with joy!

But I'm sure my most primitive church experience was in Ecuador in the 1970's. We had gone to this remote area to preach at a little church. I cannot remember the name of the place now. It was VERY remote. The last 2 or 3 miles, we walked in with a three-year old and a four-year old -- and the mandatory accordion! The building itself was built of split cane with a thatch roof. It was dark by the time Bob got up to preach and the tropically hot day had turned into one of those "I-can't-breathe, where-did-the-air-go?" tropical nights. The deacons dutifully lit the kerosene lanterns and carefully hung one on a wire right about the pulpit so Bob could read his Bible. (This is just a few feet below the very dry thatched roof). But that night I wasn't even thinking about fire.

No, that night I was entertained to watch the cockroaches climb out of the thatch (probably due to the heat from the lantern) and drop onto my dear husband. There were cockroaches in his hair which ran down his clothes. A very large one turned sommersaults on his tie for several minutes. Bob preached away, unaware of the insects. Occasionally he'd run his hand around the white collar of his dress shirt, but he believed he was wiping away sweat. He was blythely unaware that his sweat had grown legs, although I was chuckling because I thought my fastidious husband was stoically ignoring cockroaches. I could hardly wait to hear how he'd managed to stay on topic. But what happened was far more interesting.

God meets us in the strangest places. People from all over the rain forest had gathered. They'd heard there was a white man coming to preach the Gospel of Christ. For many of those people, we were the first and only Americans they would ever see. Every spot on the split logs which served as pews was taken. People were standing around leaning on the cane walls which were only built to about waist height to let in the breeze, had there been one.

My amusement at the bugs and my detachment disappeared when Bob finished his sermon and called for prayer. Numerous people came forward to accept Christ. The tears of their repentance mixed with sweat as we prayed together. Then, as God's spirit began to move several were filled with the Holy Spirit. One little girl, maybe 12 or 13 years old began to pray in perfect English. She gave an unaccented and grammatically correct expression of worship and adoration. I was amazed. It's the only time I've heard anything like it. No one but Bob and I had any inkling of what her language meant. To the saints there, she was simply speaking in other tongues. There were no other English speakers in the congregation that night except Bob and I and our two little boys. We questioned numerous people later. That child had never been out of the jungle; she didn't have radio or tv; she had never heard English spoken; she didn't speak or understand a word of it; we were the first Americans she had ever met. She was radiant with God's Spirit although she didn't know the extent of her miracle that night. She just knew that she had been changed. We knew that God had met us in a new and different way.

If this is the first of the phenomenon of tongues that you have read about and are interested in learning more, John L. Sherrill's They Speak with Other Tongues is a classic that explains his research intended to prove that speaking in tongues was fake and his subsequent discoveries. If you'd like a more theological approach, Jack Hayford in Baptism with the Holy Spirit (Biblical Truth Simply Explained) does a terrific job.

Yes, I love the internet, but even that resource can't top the simple power of God's Spirit. He moves in spite of bad sound systems, no sound systems, cockroaches or amused missionaries who get awakened to the power of the Spirit. God meets us in the strangest places!

The Road Not Taken by Robert Frost


Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I--
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

Sometimes I wonder about choices...did I make the right one? How do I know? Will I ever know this side of eternity?

I read in the newspaper the other day that Warren Buffet is donating the bulk of his $44 billion dollars to the foundation run by Bill and Melinda Gates. They'll be receiving $1.5 billion annually which will double the funds of the foundation. Bill Gates has topped Forbes list of billionaires for several years now. There's an interesting story here.

Bill Gates dropped out of Harvard to write software for Ed Roberts who had invented the first P.C., the Altair 8800. Ed hired him and Paul Allen for $10 an hour to write BASIC for the Altair. Humble beginnings for an industry that has literally changed the world. Beginnings that has made Bill Gates a household word.

In 1977 Ed sold the company, purchased a farm in Georgia and went to Medical school. Bill gates and Paul Allen went on to found Microsoft. Today, Ed Roberts is a physician in a small Georgia town. He is one of only two doctors for Berkley County.

According to sources, Bill Gates doesn't talk about those early days, but when asked about his Altair days, Roberts says, "The implication is that the PC is the most important thing I've ever done, and I don't think that's true. Every day I deal with things that are equally if not more important here with my patients." Although he says that he does still design advanced computer systems for certain clients, he has left fame and fortune behind with no regrets. Would you have know the name of Edward Roberts?

Two roads.

Imprisoned and at the end of his life, Paul said: Philippians 4:11 "Actually, I don't have a sense of needing anything personally. I've learned by now to be quite content whatever my circumstances. 12 I'm just as happy with little as with much, with much as with little. I've found the recipe for being happy whether full or hungry, hands full or hands empty. 13 Whatever I have, wherever I am, I can make it through anything in the One who makes me who I am." (The Message)

Two roads. Whichever I chose, I can make it through because I have the ONE who makes me who I am.

Just trying to upload a photo into my profile. I couldn't figure out how to get it uploaded into Blogspot without doing it this way. (Duh!) More later.

(Baby Jude sleeping peacefully) (Our tools and retrieved items) **********************************************

I just got back from visiting my sister. We had a great time celebrating her birthday and I got acquainted with my greatnephews again, ages 2 & 4. I even helped retrieve a wide array of objects that the two-year old had stashed in the VCR without the knowledge or consent of any adult (Aren't two years olds good at that??). We got the unit working again, but really had fun pulling batteries, an allen wrench, plastic toys and paper from the VCR as well as the stuck video tape :) It's amazing what two country girls armed with a few screwdrivers, a flashlight, a pair of pliers, and a nailpuller can do!! I'm sure God must do that very thing with us....He come's along and helps us pull out all the unnecessary paraphernalia to get things working again.

I also got to visit with another greatnephew. (Okay. For those of you who know me, he's the grandson of my double cousin. Southern families are very complicated!) At nine weeks old baby Jude is a little doll. I almost got the baby bug!! Gasp! Quick! Somebody lend me a baby for a few days. That will cure me.

But one never goes on vacation from God. The message Sunday morning was a confirmation of what God has been speaking in me. Pastor Mike a couple of Tuesdays ago taught from Psalm 23 "He restoreth my soul." God moves beyond time and works to restore us to our original state -- not just our previous fallen state. But if we allow him to work in brokenness, the restored state will be better than our previous state. That's a thirty-minute message in about sixty seconds. Sunday morning Pastor Shawn preached from Haggai "The latter will be greater than the first." The older Israelites were crying that the restored temple did not reach the glory of the first. God directs them to rejoice. It is His work and when He is there, the latter will be greater than the rest. He does not measure in physical grandeur or size, but in His Presence and our yieldedness and worship.

God was there in Mexico, encouraging me to rest in His Peace. God was there in Missouri encouraging me to give my brokenness, my failures, my faults to Him. He will make my latter greater than the past!! And he can do the same for you!

JUBILEE CHRISTIAN CENTRE NEWS

Three important events coming up: July 14, 15, 16 our friends from Nicaragua, the Quinto family will be in Elgin. We'll have evening services in Spanish those days involving friends from several Hispanic churches in the Elgin area. Pastor Quinto will be preaching, his sons will be helping with music for those services. It will be a great time!!

Also, July 15 we're having a one-day Kids Bible Club (an abbreviated Vacation Bible School) beginning at 9 a.m. Certification of completion will be awarded on Sunday morning when the children's choir from the Bible Club will be singing. Classes for children from 3 to 13.

Then. . . August 11, 12, 13 we'll be having a Heritage weekend...a celebration of 25 years with the church in Elgin. If you, or anyone you know is a former member of the church here, please email me with your current address and/or email address. We'll be sending out information as soon as I get back to Elgin. We're looking forward to a great reunion weekend.

PHYLIS

Right now, I'm at my sister's in St. Louis, visiting family. We went south to see my Dad today. Interesting how that works. Being in places where one used to live brings up long forgotten (or supressed) emotions and memories. Isn't it great that God is not limited by time? He can reach down and heal old wounds as easily as he can new ones.

Thankfully, I'm reminded once again that God has brought me from a very long way. I'm grateful for his Love and care. When I get back home I may write more about returning to old paths with new vision.

For now, my sister and I are celebrating her birthday, renewing ties with relatives and building memories with her girls and grandsons. Since she's a Cardinals fan, we bought her tickets to the game tomorrow...look for us on the third base line! (I have no clue who's who or what's what. I do know the rules of the game...just not the players!!) So I shall enjoy the sun, laugh at the antics of my greatnephews, eat a hotdog or two and thank God for family and hope I don't get hit in the head with a baseball!!

PJDH

Some things are hard to describe, like the rainbow pictured above that the girls and I saw the other day. "Look Grandma. There's a rainbow. It's God's promise to us!" The picture doesn't do it justice. Light infused the sky with intense color and reflected those unusual hues to everything in sight, not just the rainbow. That light, those colors are not captured by my lens, not properly reproduced on this page.

Service this morning had a quality like that. (oops, my granddaughter arrived...finish later...back to the keyboard. She's taking a nap.)

This morning, worship time was good, not spectacular, just good. Meaningful worship. For those of us there Tuesday night (or readers of my blog), we were a bit disappointed that our new believers were not there. Pastor Bob then called for prayer for some special needs: a former member critical with Parkinson Disease in Paducah, Kentucky and then for Tom, who had recommitted his life to Christ. Prior to this prayer, I related to the congregation what had happened during Tuesday's service. Wesley was to lead in prayer.

Wes stepped to the pulpit, gave a quick word of encouragement to intercessors and began to pray. His voice choked with tears, he managed to say, "Oh, God." and a Holy hush came over the congregation. In that space of time, Tom and some friends stepped into the Narthex. I saw what was happening because I was on the platform with the singers and have this habit of praying with my eyes wide open.

As Tom was seated in the back, where no one else even noticed, the Spirit of God began to move. A few moments into this Holy atmosphere, Laura began interceeding aloud; Wes remained praying, but wordlessly. Afterward Pastor Bob gave a call for those who needed healing.

But as Tom stepped through the door, my mind's eye could see a phalanx of angels accompaning him. Ministering angels who had been with him this week, and now spread out and began ministering to the congregation.

Okay. Tell me it's my imagination. But I was just reading from Cure for the Common Life by Max Lucado. He relates the following story:

"Consider a wacky example of this truth. I jogged through my neighborhood the other day under a cloud. Not a cloud of rain, but a cloud of self-doubt. The challenges of life seemed to outnumber the resources, and I questioned my ability. And, quite frankly, I questioned God's wisdom. Are you sure I'm the right man for this job? was the theme of my prayer.

"Apparently God really wanted to give me an answer, because I heard one. From on high. From a deep, booming voice. "You're doing a good job!" I stopped dead in my Reeboks and looked up. Seeing nothing in the clouds, I shifted my attention to the roof of a house. There he waved at me--a painter dressed in white and leaning against a dormer. I waved back. And I wondered and almost asked "How did you know I needed to hear that?"

"Did I have a brush with an angel? Did I see an angel with a brush? Was the worker sunstruck? This much I know. A painter spots a middle-aged guy with a bald spot puffing through the streets and thinks, The guy could use a good word. So he gives it. "You're doing a good job!"

Am I stretching theology a bit when I suggest that God put the man there, at least in part, for me? Long before time had time, God saw each moment in time, including that one. He saw a minister in need of a word. He saw a fellow with a skill for painting and a heart for encouragement. He put one on the street and the other on the roof so the second could encourage the first. Multiply that tiny event by billions, and behold the way God sustains his world." (Max Lucado, Cure for the Common Life, p33-34, W Publishing Group, 2005) "God, who makes everything work together, will work you into his most excellent harmonies" -Philippians 4:9 MSG

This morning we were in harmony. Like the runner that day. Like the girls spotting the rainbow. Moments when divinity meets humanity, heaven intervenes in earthly matters, God communes with man. Those moments are difficult to describe and harder to comprehend. But at those moments we know, just know, that we have experienced a Holy hush, a precious moment of harmony with God Almighty.

Tuesdays are Terrific! It's amazing the way God works. He pulls elements and people from here and there, puts us all together in one place and, zap, we can only say, "That was a God thing." I suspect he does it more often, but frequently we're too dense to recognize his hand in things. Last Tuesday was too obvious to miss! It had to be God!

In the early 1970's (ancient history again), Bob and I were assisting George Taylor here at the church we pastor now. Bob was Associate Pastor and Spanish Pastor, I was Youth Director. At the apartment complex where we lived and Bob worked, we became acquainted with a couple of young teenage boys, brothers. They would help Bob around the apartments and at times one or both would watch our two young sons for a hour or two to free me for ministry or errands. We began bringing them to Youth Service and then to Church services with us. Soon both were baptized and Holy Spirit filled. At one point, we offered to take them into our home to live with us, due to some circumstances at the time. It did not become necessary, but they remained close to us until we left for a mission in Ecuador, South America.

In the intervening years, both young men went astray, but never forgot the touch of God on their lives. Since we've returned to Elgin, we've seen one of the brothers several times. He's come to services now and then. The other we saw only once, at a funeral and had little time to talk.

This summer, a new neighbor moved in next door to the church. Over the last few weeks, we discovered that one of the brothers is frequently at their house. We've talked a few times, talked about the way God works, invited him and the neighbor to church. Then Monday, Bob wanted to talk to the other brother, the one we had not seen, to invite him to Tuesdays are Terrific. Bob said he felt it ordained of God that Tom come to service Tuesday. We hadn't seen Tommy for several years. He called his brother and asked how to contact Tommy. The reply was, "talk to your neighbor. He usually knows where Tommy is at."

Determined to make contact, Bob headed next door and asked, "Do you know how I can reach Tommy?"

The neighbor directed his comments to a man seated with his back to Bob, "Hey, Tom, Pastor Bob wants to talk to you."

And Tommy turned around, gave Bob a huge bear hug and began to cry. He then proceeded to tell the above story to the astonished neighbor.

Tommy came to church on Tuesday (two days ago) when Michael Cole, Jr. from Dixon, IL came to speak. Pastor Mike has a prophetic ministry. He knew nothing of this story when he came. Pastor Mike spoke from Psalm 23 "He restoreth my soul." Tommy and his friend sat toward the back of the sanctuary until the call came for "restoration" and Tom came forward. With no carnal knowledge of the man or his situation, Pastor Mike talked to him and prayed with him about "these people who have loved you for years," "God doesn't care where you've been or what you've done, he welcomes you back." and more specific pieces of Tom's history. Possibly some that apply much more than I know.

For a restored Christian of two days, Tom's doing well. He says people at work are looking at him differently. He hasn't lost his temper; he hasn't "cussed out" anyone; he hasn't been drinking. He's reading the Bible Bob gave him and listening to the Larnellle Harris CD's Bob gave him. His smile says he's a new man.

It was such a God thing. There's much of the story I don't even know. I know Tom's been in some really bad places in these intervening years, but there is no place so bad or so dark that God's light cannot penetrate.

What happens now is largely human choice, a matter of man's choosing to follow God, choosing to grow, choosing to pray. It's a matter of Prayer Warriors choosing to intercede, of Christians choosing to reach out, to befriend. But God has moved heaven and earth to bring together those elements for a fresh touch, for a true restoration. Look around and see the wonders that God is working in your life. To penetrate the darkness, you need only THE LIGHT!

I'm thankful!! Tuesdays are Terrific!!

It's all a matter of perspective. I was reading a book recently by Shaunti Feldhahn -- one of her novels, The Lights of Tenth Street, I think it was. (I highly recommend her books -- For Women Only, For Men Only and both novels). The omniscient viewpoint of the book reminded me that God sees things so differently from his perspective. I'm in the middle of the action, sometimes confused, sometimes can't see the forest for the trees. But God views things from the vista of eternity and knows the why, knows how things will connect, knows the ending as well as the beginning.

These aerial photo of Mexico City emphasize that difference. From the air one sees the entire area; on the ground perpective is limited by the surrounding environmental details.

I'm writing this as I'm preparing to go for my final checkup after the liver donation. Exactly four months since Victor's death, almost six months after the surgery, I'm going for the doctors to give the final analysis that everything has grown back normally and functioning properly.

God, let me yield to your direction, your guidance remembering that you have the omniscient perspective. Let me not be distracted by the here and now, the details, the pain, the messiness of life. With the psalmist, I sing, "I will lift my eyes to the hills from whence cometh my help. My help comes from the Lord."

(This is Bob at a restaurant on the beach. The internet cafe was actually a building!)

I´m sitting in a little internet cafe a couple of blocks from the beach. This slower pace has been great for me. I love sitting on the terrace at the hotel watching the waves roll in. Something about the ocean calms me and, at the same time, lifts my spirits. The consistency of the waves, yet with a uniqueness of the rhythm, reminds me of God´s power. Sometimes the waves come in quickly, close together, making little ripples on the sand as they dissipate and return seaward. At other times, there is a time of silence, then a larger wave comes roaring in, breaking into white foam on the rocks and sand below. But no matter the time between the waves, another will come. It is as inevitable as the sun rising tomorrow morning. It just isn´t alway timed the same.

God´s timing in our lives is like that. Sometimes waves of blessing seem to roll in, leaving a peaceful sense of God´s presence. At other times, there seems to be a interminable space of time between those power surges. But I can rest assured that it will come. As sure as the next wave, God´s power will roll in. As I watch children collecting shells or clams on the beach, they will sometimes be so engrossed in their task, they lose track of the waves. One comes unexpected, lifts them a few feet and deposits them on the sand again. The children don´t mind. They laugh; they´re accustomed to the ocean and it´s rhythms.

My prayer today is: God, give me the grace to relax and enjoy the moment, the things you are currently doing in my life. While I want the next surge, the next big wave, help me to concentrate on the task at hand, to do those things you have set in front of me. Even as I wait for the inevitable surge of power that I feel coming! Steadfastness. Keep me steadfast in You.

PJDH

The year ended well. This group of students were easy to be with, thoughtful (for the most part), well-behaved (as much as can be expected from 13-14 year olds) and a lot of fun -- as can be expected from 13-14 year olds! At the Cougar's game, they actually joined the Ozzie parade. At Navy Pier they listened (mostly) to the the historical and architectural information. On our walk through historical Elgin, they snapped pictures, took notes and wrote a personal version of the history of Elgin. Congratulations to the Ellis Class of 2006! You're a great group of kids!

There's something terribly sad about an empty classroom. Or, is it just that I'm reluctant to let go of one year, one more batch of students headed for high school and the big adventures of life? I like getting prepared for the new set of students in the fall, but I do have trouble ending the year. It usually takes me several days to clean up the classroom, stash all the books, clear all the bulletin boards, dump all the inevitable papers left behind, evidence that learning took place here. I finished the classroom on Wednesday. The cleaning crew was right down the hall. Three classroom North, all the desks were in the hallway, the tables stacked high and various files sitting around gathering hallway dust as the crews prepared to strip and wax floors. By now probably my precious memorabilia from this year is set in piles decorating the hallway with all the rest. I won't know. I won't go see it again until August.

So it's off for a few days of R & R. Grab some warm sun. Read a book or two. Recharge my batteries to start anew. One more rotation on this merry-go-round called life.

Enough with the ancient history!! Tuesdays are Terrific starts today. 7 PM it begins with a praise and worship time, then a devotional from a guest speaker. I'm excited. For the summer small groups are on sabbatical and Tuesdays will be our midweek get-together. I love worship. It will be great to have the extra time together. Each Tuesday night is something different...oops I don't have the church webpage updated yet. Gotta get on it.

Maybe I can grab a picture or two tonight.

1960 Pontiac

(A well-preserved model, not the original mentioned in the story)

THE CALL

(Part 3)

God used camp to demonstrate his miraculous power. We were returning from camp in cars: one driven by the Pastor, one by the youth leader, and one by a responsible high school senior. I rode in this last car -- a 1960 Pontiac, and a gas guzzler if ever there was one. At 9 PM we became separated from the others in traffic leaving camp and didn't have a map because we expected to follow the Pastor's car home.

Traveling to our home town from camp required a three-hour journey with many twists and turns, all on unmarked secondary roads through the hills of northern Missouri. At midnight, I realized we were nowhere close to home. In fact, we were nowhere that I recognized at all. Quietly, from the back seat, I asked the driver if he knew where we were, hoping not to wake the three other girls in the car.

"No," he replied. "I keep thinking I'll find a station or a store that's open, but so far, nothing. Do you recognize anything?"

"I think we may be driving in circles. I'm pretty sure I've seen that house before," I replied, nodding toward a farmhouse set back off the road.

About then a couple of other girls awakened, "Are we lost?"

"What will we do," one girl began to cry.

Buddy and I tried to reassure them. Eventually, the car was calm again.

This was the 1960's and we were teenagers. There would have been no warm welcome if we had awakened some hill farmer who probably had no phone anyway, and most assuredly had a loaded shotgun in working order. We kept driving hoping eventually to arrive at some spot we recognized: a town with a name, or a police station, a lake, a state park, anything that would give a point of reference.

About 2 AM, I noticed another problem brewing. Buddy's gas gauge was sitting firmly on "E". Over the next three hours, I watched the needle as it lay solidly past the empty indicator moving not at all. Silently I prayed, "Oh, God. Get us home safely before we run out of gas."

Soon a warm glow of light on the Eastern horizon served as a compass to guide us home. With the dawning light on our left, we were able to head South. A couple of hours later, the old Pontiac topped the hill above our hometown. Never was the panorama of that little town so beautiful to my eyes.

With a well-lit gas station in sight, I asked Buddy, "How accurate is your gas gauge?"

"Right on," he replied. "When it says empty, it stops running."

"Did you know the needle has been on "E" for the last three hours?" I asked.

"Sure did," he answered, "Were you praying as hard as I was?"

"Fervently," I responded. "But I didn't want to scare the other girls so I kept quiet, hoping they wouldn't notice."

"We must have had an angel pushing us along," he responded. "This car won't move an inch once the needle hits "E"."

With that miracle God clearly showed me he has my well-being in mind. What dangers lurked in those dark hills and deserted roads that night, I'll never know. I have learned that I can't always discern God's motives. Whether he simply wanted to demonstrate His miraculous power, wanted to spare us from some situation, or had another motive entirely is irrelevant. I learned that God is able. He is powerful. His miracles are not reserved for those with fancy robes, fabulous oratorical abilities, learned titles, or world-wide ministries. He sometimes chooses to demonstrate his power to the weak and helpless, even a lost carload of teenagers.

Bertha Lee (Blunt) Dunlap preaching at Morgan Corner Church, Butler County, Missouri

Circa, 1955

THE CALL

(Part 2)

For the next several years, my spiritual journey continued. I began teaching pre-schoolers in Sunday School when I was eleven. I occasionally played piano for service -- under the tutelage of my Mother. I viewed these acts of service as important steps toward spiritual maturity. In those days, action counted for everything. Not much attention was given to more intrinsic aspects of spiritual life.

Then one December night my life changed forever. We awoke at 2 AM with the house afire. As flames closed in, all four of us escaped the building by jumping from a small second story window to subzero temperatures outside. We were barefooted clothed only in pajamas. My little sister spent months recovering from her burns and subsequent skin grafts. My Dad broke his heel from landing on the solidly frozen ground. I suffered burns and an appendicitis attack a week later. But my Mom died two weeks later from third-degree burns over 75% of her body.

With my Mother gone, my spiritual journey kicked into high gear through sheer necessity. The realization that God listened to me personally occurred that summer following my Mother's death.

We spent the summer at my Grandmother's house in town. The church there sent kids to Youth Camp for a one-week intensive spiritual enrichment program. I desired t oattend with the desperate thirst of a desert traveler for water. However due to the losses from the fire, we didn't have th emoney for the week's tuition. Several people volunteered to pay for me, but my Dad wasn't "accepting no charity."

As departure date approached, I became fully convinced that I would be able to attend. My Dad noted my cheery positive attitude and warned me repeatedly, "I'm not changing my mind about accepting charity."

With a confidence born from my mother's and grandmother's faith, I responded, "That's okay. God has called me. He'll provide."

My Dad, an unbeliever, would shake his head and mutter something unintelligible to me.

The bus to camp was to leave Sunday after morning service. Friday night I went to bed depressed, afraid that my Dad could really prevent my going. In my mind the only hope was for him to change his mind. But by Friday night, my faith was weak since my Dad's resolve remained staunch, unbendable.

Lying in bed, I was crying softly when suddenly a sense of peace spread through me. I can't say I heard an audible voice, but the voice in my head was clear, "I will provide." My faith response was immediate. I relaxed and fell happily to sleep.

Early next morning, I packed my suitcase. At breakfast my Dad reminded me yet again, "If you think I'm changing my mind about accepting charity, you have another think coming."

"I just know that God told me he'd provide," I replied confidently.

He just shook his head.

Just then the mail arrived.

A few minutes later my Dad walked into the kitchen with a dumbfounded look on his face, an envelope in one hand and a small piece of paper in the other. "Well," he said slowly. "You must have the faith of your mother. Here's a check for your tuition."

I didn't look up from washing dishes.

"This is from the County Watershed Committee," he continued. "They've paid me this month's stipend even though I didn't make the meeting. Get Linda Lou to take you to cash this." he handed me the check. "It's all yours."

The money covered tuition and an extra $5 (unheard of riches to me) for spending money. Somehow this confirmed God's care for me. I became totally convinced of His reliability, even his understanding of human resistance. I was amazed that God would use a method of provision which would be acceptable to my Dad: it was a legitimate "paycheck," not a donation.

That week at camp was an epiphany for me. For the next several years, an annual visit to camp provided a spiritual oasis that I desperately needed in those dark times following my mother's death. I would return from camp with faith and energy to face the rigors of the next twelve months. Thus the watershed stipend became a spiritual watershed for my life.

Circa, 1906. Grandma Maude is the young lady standing on the steps.

THE CALL

(Part 1)

For as long as I can remember, I understood the concept of being called of God. I knew my mother was called to preach. I understood my maternal Grandfather had been called to travel and start churches. My maternal Grandmother (pictured above) received the Holy Spirit at Azusa Street in 1906 and subsequently received a call to evangelize.

The first personal calling I remember was the urge to be baptized. It was June, and we had an evangelist at our little country church. On Sunday afternoon we were going to the river after morning service for baptisms. I wanted to be baptized too.

My Mom pulled me aside one afternoon. "Phylis, I want to be sure you're doing this for the right reasons, not just because some of the older girls are being baptized."

I stumbled over the concept of sin and repentance, but I knew about The Call. "Mom, I just feel this pull toward serving God. I know I want to follow Jesus always. I know I want to minister, and this is the next step."

She took the time to explain repentance and remission of sins. Most of it I didn't get for several years, but my mother gave her consent for my baptism. I still remember the feeling that day.

There was a cool breeze blowing, riffling through those 50's hairdos as we gathered on the banks of Beaver Dam Creek singing familiar hymns. Old oak trees provided ample shade and protection from the midday sun as one by one we stepped into the briskly flowing water. Little clouds of silt drifted over my feet as I waded into waist deep water. Pensively waiting my turn to be lowered into the water, my heart pounded because I knew I didn't understand exactly what was happening. I just knew that within me my spirit was responding to a Higher Call. As I came back up out of the water, my spirit soared with a lightness and joy that I little understood. No dove appeared; no voice from heaven spoke as at the baptism of Jesus. But for me the sun shined brighter. The water flowed more purely, and the breeze refreshed my body as His spirit refreshed my soul. And His Call was heard in my eleven-year-old heart.

METAMORPHOSIS

Pablo Picasso's paintings often depict turmoil, a scrambling, an implosion of self. I've never been a Picasso fan, but recently I've seen some of his paintings with new eyes.

Sometimes I wonder how God can ever use me. What will he be able to do with me? Yet, he continually takes me, failures distresses and all, and molds a vessel useful for his Kingdom.

All those who were in distress or in debt or discontented gathered around him, and he became their leader.... - 1 Samuel 22:2

This was the group that gathered around David, the group that later God called "mighty men of valor" (see 1 Chron. 11:10).

Merriam-Webster says that metamorphosis is a change of physical form, structure, or substance especially by supernatural means.

I'm in need of a metamorphosis.

I thought of Jonah today. Jonah and the conversation he had with God after Jonah had finally put himself out on a limb and preached the message of destruction that God had given him, and then God changed His mind and spared Ninevah.

Putting oneself on the line is always a risky business. So often, we. . . I have one idea about what results to expect, and God has another idea in mind. He accomplishes HIS purposes when I'm left in the dark wondering who turned the lights out.

(The official PJDH version of Jonah's confrontation with God. )

Jonah complains, "Hey God. Didn't I tell you this would happen? You know how you are. You can't follow through on anything. You're way too soft-hearted. You could have just let me run away to Tarshish or better yet, why not leave me alone in the first place? Huh? Why don't you go away and just let me die?

And God said, "Don't sweat the small stuff."

So Jonah went out on the hillside, tried to make some shade and waited with only a little glee to see if any of his dire predictions would come true.

Then suddenly a vine grew up and provided great shady cover from the hot sun. And for the first time since God had given him his marching orders, Jonah got a good night's sleep. No gaseous stuff from the whale's belly; no ship tossing in the storm; and no racing through Ninevah yelling like he'd done for the last three days. Nice shade. A good view.

Suddenly Jonah is awakened by a burning sensation. "Hey God! What gives? This vine is shriveled; look a perfectly good vine is going to waste because of that nasty little worm. The sun is so hot I'm about to have an asthma attack; I'm gonna faint. I think I'll just die here!

And God says, "What do you have to be mad about?"

"Plenty!" spouts Jonah.

"You didn't grow the vine that you're so concerned about. You didn't even water it. There are more than a hundred and twenty thousand people in Ninevah. I'm worried about them."

The scriptural record stops there, but I can hear Jonah sputtering.

"It's a horse of a different color. They didn't leave a perfectly good place to ride on a flee-bitten bark only to be tossed into a stormy sea. They didn't spend three nights in the deep in the digestive track of a fish. You're comparing apples and oranges. They. . . . . .A hundred and twenty thousand did you say? You da man. But it sure would have been one big scene of destruction to watch. And what am I to say when I'm accused of delivering a false word, anyway?"

A really big Silence from on high.

Jonah's last word, "Trust you? Implicitly?" Sigh.

For I know the plans I have for you," declares the Lord, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. -Jeremiah 29:11