(Letter to the Lost)

You matter.

You matter because there is a case pending against you that all of history hinges on.  You, God’s masterpiece, knit together out of a secret DNA code that only He could write and science is still beginning to try to decipher.  Too much beauty is contained in that code to describe.  A thousand pictures could not capture how it makes those who love you feel when you laugh.  Too much wisdom is written in those helices for our most brilliant minds to comprehend.  Like the wisdom that teaches the feet of the illiterate to balance their weight perfectly on symmetrical legs.  Too much joy is written into those strands to be expressed; even your parents didn’t come close on the day of your birth.  The only appropriate celebration for your grandeur is of heavenly proportions…but that does hang in the balance.

Because your DNA was hijacked and your beauty marred and the wisdom despised and the joy stifled.  Because you and I have participated in the greatest treachery of all time.  The One who designed, crafted, and rejoiced over you for Love has been denied His heart’s desire:  full fellowship with you.  Your soul’s DNA no longer reads, “Lover of God with all heart, soul, mind and strength.”  It’s been changed to read, “Seeker of self for pleasure, glorification, identity, and source.”  The design is so grossly perverted that you have to be told…TO BE TOLD IN WORDS…to love the most beautiful, perfect Lover conceivable.  To love Love Himself.  You and I, we must be commanded to love Love (for which we were made).  To see Light (for which our eyes were formed).  To do Justice (which is HIs only possible course).  To cherish Mercy, by which we continue to breathe from moment to moment.

So because He must, He commands it.  And still, after the command, written long form in 66 books over hundreds of years, shouted by prophets who were thrown in jail and sawn in half, and then embodied in His own Son made flesh, still after all…still the Word is neglected and disbelieved, the prophets despised, and the Love, Light, the Son of God, made into a pendant.  Crucified by religion daily, His righteousness undesired.  And here you are in the now of history, with thousands of years of defiance of men before you and the return of the King to come, and everything is hinging on how you will respond.

You matter.  The case against you is unchangeable, insurmountable, terrifying.  You were made for greatness, one way or the other.  And you have been pursued in the sea of humanity for rescue by the Son of Man and the Son of God.  One and the same, Jesus Christ, the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world.  Have you heard His name?  Then you have been pursued eternally and offered the world’s only hope.  Have you seen His book?  Then He has cried out to you in a loud voice.  Have you been told of His death?  Then you have been confronted with the most astounding injustice the greatest imagination could ever conceive of, the greatest story ever told, and the greatest act of Love any man or spirit could attempt.  The immortal God dying slowly at the hands of the rebels, the underlings, the traitors.  The created killing Creator.  The Omnipotent nailed up by weaklings.  Voluntarily.

And YOU are the one at the center of the story.  The ONE for whom Christ died.  You matter.  You matter.  You could not matter more.  There is no more certain guarantee of your worth than this, Jesus Christ hanging on the cross outside the camp, bloody beyond recognition.  You matter.  If there is one question on which you dare not waste another moment it is the question of whether you are loved and important.  Do you see Him there on the Cross?  You matter.

No, the question is not whether you are loved, or whether you are significant.  You must disbelieve the Cross and reject history to remain asking what has been so resoundingly answered for all time.  No, the question is if you esteem Him.  Whether you see Him as worthwhile and significant.  Him, the King of Glory.  All Creation is groaning for His return, but He holds off, offering you another day and another breath to engage all the angels of heaven in celebration.  Will you repent?  Will you turn?  Will you bow and surrender to love, or defy not only the Righteous Judge, but your own Advocate and Redeemer, in the end standing only in agreement with your accuser and abuser, who calls you worthless and tutors you how to be so?  For a few moments the world will stand with you as you stand with them, but it is a vapor.  And so you will face the One before whose face all of heaven and earth flees away on your own.  And He will open the Lamb’s Book of Life, to see if your name is in it.

All the universities in the world, temples of idolatry, and drunken stupors of men will never change the eternal truth:  There’s a book.  He died to put your name in it.  You matter.  Will you believe, confess, and repent?  He will pay all debts, allowing you to die and be reborn.  To be a new creation, to have new life, eternal life in full fellowship with Him.  He will save you not only from the eternal penalty of sin, but from the life of slavery to sin you now live.  Sin will no longer be your master; if only you will submit to Him, the kindest and most preferred of all Masters, Lord of all!  Bowing to His Lordship will make you free!

When you do, friend and brother, finally the celebration of your worth is released in the heavenlies, all the angels rejoicing at the redemption of the Precious Prodigal.  What joy, on earth and in heaven, the Father’s will done.  Restored relationship with you.  You matter.

⁸ But what does it say? “The word is near you, in your mouth and in your heart”^[a](that is, the word of faith which we preach): ⁹ that if you confess with your mouth the Lord Jesus and believe in your heart that God has raised Him from the dead, you will be saved. ¹⁰ For with the heart one believes unto righteousness, and with the mouth confession is made unto salvation.  Rom. 10:8-10

And when she finds it, she calls her friends and neighbors together and says, ‘Rejoice with me; I have found my lost coin.’ ¹⁰In the same way, I tell you, there is rejoicing in the presence of the angels of God over one sinner who repents.”  Luke 15:9-10

All this is from God, who reconciled us to himself through Christ and gave us the ministry of reconciliation: ¹⁹that God was reconciling the world to himself in Christ, not counting men’s sins against them. And he has committed to us the message of reconciliation. ²⁰We are therefore Christ’s ambassadors, as though God were making his appeal through us. We implore you on Christ’s behalf: Be reconciled to God. ²¹God made him who had no sin to be sin^[a] for us, so that in him we might become the righteousness of God.  2 Cor. 5:18-21

The kids and I have been sick for the last week or so, presumably with swine flu.  It really hasn’t been that bad, in our case.  Pretty mild, considering all the hysteria.  But it does last awhile, and we are definitely getting stir crazy without our usual routine of activities…

Anyway, I needed a lot of help, and the Lord is faithful, of course.  Here are the things the Holy Spirit’s been reminding me of today:

1.  I’ve totally been forgotting to play worship and dance with the kids!  After all, how can I accurately teach them about God and not have celebratory dancing involved???  (This is why being a mom is way better than being a pastor). Granted, there’s not a lot of energy around here for dancing, but it was worth spending the little bit we had…sets us all a-right.  This reminded me that…

2.  I am sick and tired, and that’s all right.  I can still have joy.  That’s just life on the planet Earth.

3.  There are times when there is no chance the house will come within a mile of what you’d call “clean,” but if it’s alright with Jesus, it needs to be alright with me.

4.  I need breakthrough.  If I am fed up with myself when I don’t get it the first try, I will definitely never get it.  Jesus is not fed up with me, so here I go again, a-hunting after holiness!

5.  Do not try to correct a three year-old for being loud and repeating everything he says 5-10 times.  It does not matter that it drives me crazy.  Get a different car and drive somewhere else.  He’s three.

6.  Speaking of loud, there are three of them and we haven’t been out of the house substantially for days.  It’s going to be loud.  If it’s not loud, they’re asleep.

7.  Speaking of sleep, they need more than I think when they’re sick.

8.  Speaking of thinking, Nutella’s a good idea for getting sick kids to eat.

9.  Speaking of Nutella…mmm.  Now, you may ask if that was really something the Lord reminded me of.  I don’t know.

10.  If Ihave unbelief about mycalling, I’ll live angry.  This has two sub-reminders:

a. If Iforget my calling, others will not remember it for me.

b. If I have unbelief over my calling (or obedience to the Lord’s instructions), I will probably primarily concern myself with people who do not believe in my calling.  I will become angry with them, as well as being angry in general.  Unbelief is always wrong (both sinful and inaccurate).

If something’s pressing against you (fear, unbelief, anger, hopelessness…), mighty warrior of God, press back!!!  You’ll win.  Judges 6:12-14

I have seen the look on many women’s faces, the pain and emptiness of wanting children but not being able to have any.  Tonight, I can’t sleep, wanting to yell to the Lovely Lady, the Bride of Christ:  This is true barrnenness, to have not made disciples.  Just the other day, I heard another new mom say to me, “I never could have understood what it meant, until I actually had her (the new baby)…”  The power of that transformation is forever and undeniable, and nothing could ever take that new mommy and daddy back to childlessness without utterly wracking their souls.  They probably would rather die than be childless again.

For more than 25 years of my Christian life, I was utterly disconnected from this command of the Savior, to go and make disciples.  The crazy thing is, I had no idea that I was.  Strangely. it never occurred to me to ask myself if I had ever made a disciple.  It wasn’t that I meant to miss the fundamental purpose for my being on the earth.  Once again, STRANGELY, it just didn’t occur to me.  Even looking back I can’t explain it.  I don’t know that I ever thought about it, but if I did, I guess I thought that somehow that was the function of the church, to disciple people.  You know, like evangelism equals inviting people to an evangelistic event, discipleship must equal inviting people to attend church.  No, make that a small group.

Just as no parent in their right mind would think a school could substitute for his and her love and discipline, hoping the message on Sunday applies directly to Johnny Appleseed’s life and that he will somehow achieve sanctification and maturity without any intentional development is just plain bonkers.

This is a painful story to share, but it displays just how disconnected I was.  In college, while overseas, I led a roommate to the Lord.  Well, I invited her to church with me, and there she (I thought) received the Lord.  I cannot remember now how clearly I ever articulated the entirety of the gospel, giving her a chance to believe and repent.  I don’t remember if I explained how to be born again to her clearly enough that she could articulate it to someone else.  I shared much with her, in bits and pieces.  I shared scriptures with her, as things came up.  I was extremely attentive to her, and I loved her with all my heart.  I took her to church.  I was a devoted friend, and I did the best I knew how.

Fundamentally, I also abdicated the commands of the Lord to a body who was never supposed to carry them.  The little branch of a branch of a church plant with 20 or so excited young believers that represented “where I went to church.”  I think she did begin to follow the Lord, but I never took responsibility for the newborn baby who’d been placed in my care.  I was reactive to her, like a friend to an orphan, but I did not take her in.  I did not consider the foundation that needed to be laid, oversee her development, pray her through to the other side, or even know that I should consider doing any of those things.  I thought that the church did that.  She was utterly unprepared to return to her spiritually dead home after our year overseas together and no longer follows the Lord at all, as far as I know.  I still cry out for mercy on her behalf, that God would send someone to do what I did not.

As I said above, discipleship is like parenting, in many ways.  One, there is a joy in it that will change you forever, and an empty barrenness in a life devoid of it, whether that is recognized or not.  Secondly, it is the filling up of your spiritual home, the lines of your eternal generations, your inheritance forever and ever that will go on to bear fruit long after your body is dead.  It is fundamentally what we are made for, and life without it is a dull form of misery.  There is no thrill like discipling someone hungry for truth, nothing like speaking the faithful words of scripture and seeing confusion turn to clarity, despair to hope, brokenness to wholeness.  When you disciple a woman whose never known a loving family, you may have changed the future of her children from agony to health.  And her children’s children, and so on, and so on.  When you rescue a young person from secular social justice and teach them the gospel, you may have just opened a gateway for thousands to come to salvation for all eternity, rather than getting fed for a few years.  Discipleship is true ministry.  Every other form is a shadow or facet of it.

Discipleship is what Jesus did.  It cannot be done by a church or by a small group.  It is person to person, requiring sacrificial love and faithful truth pouring out from the discipler and some humility and hunger from the disciple.  It is utterly simple in concept, and utterly impossible in practice except by the empowerment of the Spirit.  It has a bad reputation for having been done so often in the flesh.  It cannot be done by a teacher from the podium.  That is nice, but it is not discipleship.  It is a shadow, because it requires little love from the teacher, and little humility from the student.

Just like that new mom who “didn’t know” until she did it herself, I didn’t know who I was until I began discipling.  Ladies who’ve run with me know that the joy it fills me with literally makes it impossible for me to sit down while I share the Word.  They may not know that I find it impossible to pray for their wounds without weeping, impossible to speak hard truths without shaking, impossible to watch them fall without aching, impossible to stop loving them.  Discipleship is hard, for sure, like parenting.  I have been resented, resisted, and at times, totally rejected.  AND I do not regret one minute of it.  Probably most of the occasion was given by my own (blundering) mistakes made along the way.  Either way, I could not stop wanting any one of those ladies to win, no matter what.

I’m telling you the truth, you don’t know who you (in a good way!) are until you are discipling. It’s what we are made for.  I’m so addicted that I have to get up in the middle of the night and try to disciple the cyberworld through a blog.  Maybe I’ll be able to sleep now that I’ve had a heart to heart with the Beautiful Bride here on ojandsuz.com.  :)  So go make some disciples, teaching them everything He commanded us (Mat. 28:19).  I guarantee your prayer life will go through the roof, your maturity and sanctification will accelerate, your humility will skyrocket, and your joy will be full.

Finally–I’m SO THANKFUL to those who have discipled me!  Thank you, thank you, thank you!!!

Today is Ariel’s birthay.  Five years ago today, just about the time I write this the life of the most delightful girl I’ve ever known hung in the balance as light and dark clashed in the heavenlies.  The doctors’ report:  prepare for her death.  The Lord’s report: [I] have taught children and infants to tell of [My] strength, silencing [My] enemies and all who oppose [Me].  Ps. 8:2.  She had been born with Meconium Aspiration Syndrome, whisked away from me before I could hold her, and put on ventilators.  By this time of her first day, her lungs had collapsed twice, and the airlift team from the best children’s hospital in the Northwest was on the ground at Madigan Army Hospital, preparing her tiny body for transfer.

OJ and I had been married for only 14 months at this point, filled with excitement over the birth of our first baby, the baby we couldn’t wait for, though everyone said to give ourselves a year before conceiving.  We were filled with zest and excitement for life and the kingdom of God, raring to go, considering returning to our alma mater to minister to the students there through Residence Life so OJ could get a Masters Degree.  We were all optimism, and the thought had never crossed our minds that sorrow could take our hearts and destroy them right in front of us.  When the staff finally made us understand how sick Ariel was, I think there was a gasp heard all over the country, maybe even the world, and hundreds of knees hit the ground.  Her precious life…a cry rose up to God from all around.  My father wept in Chicago, my sister alerted the intercessors at the House of Prayer in Kansas City, and OJ made a phone call to our pastor and leader in Tacoma, leaving a message on their answering machine.  “Brian, our baby’s really sick…please…”

OJ and I had already been so transformed and impacted in our brief time in Tacoma, we knew it was a special place.  In fact, we were chomping at the bit to get back to our former lives and tell them all we had learned.  We’d already probably offended most of our friends with loud proclamations and preaching, certain everyone would want to hear the good news of freedom in Christ.  We were who we were.  We had pulled our car up to the take-out window, and gotten (we felt) enough for ourselves and everyone we knew.  We were getting ready to pull out and attempt to deliver the goods when Ariel’s birth happened all wrong.  There was a place in our hearts God wanted to access fast, and there’s no way there except by severity.  Desperation.

I remember the moment that the spirit of despair landed on me.  I was semi-prone in the hospital bed when OJ brought back the news of the second collapse of her lungs, and I remember the moment.   I remember the panic.  I remember the fear, which was knowledge of a sort.  There had been a little whisper of a question somewhere deep down for the hours previously, but at that moment, I knew she was going to die.  There was no more talking or listening or hearing for me.  I was not me anymore.  I was just there.  I was in that state when OJ was rolling me past the maternity ward doors to the NICU.  They opened and Brian came walking miraculously through, having been passed through a multitude of military checkpoints with no valid pass.  I couldn’t look up to see his face, but I remember his hands, which were at my eye level in my wheelchair.  They were shaking, and I heard him say, “We asked the Lord every which way, and every time He said this baby’s going to live.”  Those words were like drops of water in my mouth, cracking and burning with dryness.  That was the day I became addicted to the clear voice of Lord, and my ears became dull to anybody else’s opinions.

OJ left me in the care of my midwife, and took my mom and Brian to Ariel’s room.  Numerous hospital staff buzzed around in addition to the blue-smocked chopper team, and a nurse spoke to Brian as he entered, “You have to help these parents understand that the baby’s going to die.”  Elizabeth had called and someone had pressed the phone to my ear so I could hear her sob, “Listen, Suz, listen to this…”  She held her phone out to the prayer room, where hundreds of intercessors were lifting my baby up in prayer, and Misty was singing, “Ariel, breathe…Ariel, breathe…”  Ariel, Lioness of God, name for Jesus’ beloved city…Ariel was a burden that would not lift, and those praying, I later came to find out, literally could not relent.  The Spirit was carrying a cry in the room that only increased, and no one could move on.

While OJ, Brian, and my mom warred for her inside the NICU, I sat whimpering in a separate waiting room.  The room was quiet and dark and then something like a silent wind blew through, and my soul passed out of a cave.  A thousand weights lifted off of me, and physically I lifted my head, not realizing till that moment that I hadn’t previously been able to.  In a moment, I went from knowing that Ariel was dying to knowing, with certainty, that she would live.  I looked at the midwife and said, “She’s going to live!”  She said soothingly, “That’s right, honey…”  And I corrected her, “No.  You don’t understand.  She’s going to live.”  I asked them as soon as they walked through the door, “What happened in there?  Everything is different.”  They replied, “We rebuked the spirit of fear…”  That was the day that we put on our armor, took up the sword, and became freedom fighters.   For God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power and of love and of a sound mind.  II Tim 1:7

We bowed our heads to pray together, and my heart began to remember the things the Lord had told me about this baby throughout the months of loving her in my growing middle.  Sweet things, like that she would have red hair.  Powerful things, like that she would be used for salvation in Israel when He spoke Zech. 12:10 to me, long before I knew that my little one would be pierced and that I would know a taste of mourning for my firstborn.  Encouraging things, like that we were a family marked by joy and she would be full of laughter.  It was that last remembrance that tightened my stomach, and I nearly yelled out loud as I understood the scheme to destroy our little family’s joy just as it was getting started.  To sideline us, stop us, gut us.  I remember being righteously enraged, and proclaiming Psalm 8:2 over her.  I remember a peace so profound, and a joy so deep coming over the room that we literally could not pray any more.  All there was to be done was done. I remember looking at one another, wondering what to say, when they came to bring us to say goodbye to her before the airlift.  Babies often don’t survive that trip, they told us.  That was the day we broke ties publicly with the report of men, boldly telling our girl that she would be just fine…

There are a hundred other stories, like how they told us she would be weeks in Intensive Care and instead she was home within days, and of bringing Ariel into the midst of our church Body a week later…how we all wept and cheered for the miracle in our midst.   But there’s one more that I only just learned recently since moving to Kansas City.  Many people have remembered praying for Ariel, that night all those years ago, one being the prayer leader of the session.  He recalled it clearly, and told me of the burden of the Spirit, about not being able to get the people to stop praying, about the unction on it.  And so for more than an hour, they sang and prayed and beseeched the Lord God Almighty…and then suddenly, he said, it lifted.   All there was to be done was done. I asked what time it all took place, and sure enough, it was just about the time we were sitting in that little room, smiling at one another.  That was the day Ariel was born.

Next time some erring evangelical caught in scandalous sin pulls the “David and Bathsheba” card, take a moment to clarify that David paid for his sin with the death of his child.  Though he was ultimately atoned for and forgiven, God’s judgement for David’s outrages still came down, and his son died.  David’s reaction:  to rise up, wash, and worship God.  David considered God merciful, knowing he deserved much worse.  He deserved to lose everything, and was thankful for his light sentence.

Also, David’s repentance followed his sin being revealed to him in private, not to the public.  That’s just called “getting caught.”  This is in contrast to folks who, upon getting exposed, compare themselves to David to explain why  they should not lose standing almost in the same breath as they express their regret.  This is not repentance.

There is no self-pity or self-preservation in true repentance.  Only worship at the mercy of God for not giving out the full measure of wrath that is deserved.  So when you hear someone grasping for their kingdom with one side of their mouth as their druel and self-pity drips from the other, please release King David from this posthumous association.

Hey, church.  Let’s acquaint ourselves with biblical repentance.  Our salvation depends on it. 

And he will go on before the Lord, in the spirit and power of Elijah, to turn the hearts of the fathers to their children and the disobedient to the wisdom of the righteous—to make ready a people prepared for the Lord. Luke 1:17

When I was in college , I sung an oratorio by Mendehlssohn called Elijah. Three hundred plus singers, a jawdropping baritone in the lead, and a full orchestra (I was just one of the three hundred, definitely.)  We only performed it 2 or 3 times, but I wept every time.  Rehearsals preceded it for months.  Three hours of scripture pinned to staff and bar by a rare genius.  I can still come to tears just mulling over some of its moments in my heart.  Like when the whole frantic choir cries out full volume to Baal, to be met with total silence.  Or when we sang through the earthquake, the tornado, and the fire, only to finally hear His voice in the still quiet.  Or when Elijah shoots back with the authority of God at King Ahab after his whiny accusation that the prophet is a pest to Israel, NOT I, AHAB, BUT YOU… YOU TROUBLE ISRAEL.  Your sin, your compromise, your false peace and promiscuity leading these blind and foolish people down to death.  YOU TROUBLE ISRAEL.  Moments of pure triumph, even though he was one against hundreds of thousands.

Just memorizing the songs (scripture verses), God would confront me.  When the children of Israel cried out to Baal, I was shaken up at the fortissimo infidelity, and wondered about singing the words myself when it dawned on me that they were truly supplicating a demon.  (I determined this was okay as I would not myself be speaking to said demon.)  I remember sharing my consideration with a friend, who looked at me with a mocking look, and said, “Or maybe they were just talking to a carving?”  This friend was, as were most of the students at my excellent Christian college, mostly unfamiliar with the Bible.  But I was too immature to realize that and just felt stupid at the time.

The fear of the LORD is the beginning of wisdom…  Ps. 111:10 I guess I could probably think of a lot of times that fearing God has made me feel very stupid in company.  Anyone who fears God can.  But God does not have an agenda of rescuing us from that situation.  On the contrary, He’ll let them come to drive out the fear of man.  Fear of man and fear of God are like oil and vinegar.  They don’t mix.  I tried really, really hard to do it, especially in college.  Picture your hand on the bottle of House Italian about to drench your salad.  I shook that hard, but it still didn’t last.  The question for that friend and most of the church is simple, “Why do you put forth opinions about anything when you don’t know what God says?” It’s an honest question, not a rude one.  “Doesn’t that scare you?” Back in college I couldn’t have asked the question, because it presents a test that I was failing at the time.  I loved the Lord, but my fear of God level was looking low next to my “love His grace” and “thankful for His blessing” gauges.  Saved, but frequently stupid.

Note:  fearing God is not the same thing as fearing breaking the rules.  This is why folks sometimes known in our culture as “fundamentalists,” can be so extraordinarily unwise, as can folks who work the hardest, strive the most, or seem the most ardent for God.  But immature people will often defend their compromise by pointing to the religious as if they’re proof of the foolishness of zeal.  God’s equations always prove true.   Don’t worry about how hard someone seems to serve God.  If they truly fear Him, there will be wisdom.  If there’s a lack of wisdom, there’s a lack somewhere of the fear of God.

“Doesn’t that scare you?” I recently overheard a man postulating about homosexuality and the church at my gym.  While I worked out, I read Ps. 119.  Ps 119 is super repetitive, just perfect for a born fool like me.  Or didn’t you know?  Folly is bound up in the heart of a child… Prov 22:15a.  One thing you can be sure of every person you meet, they were born a fool.  And they still are, except where the discipline of the Lord has driven it from them.  This is something you already know if you’ve read Proverbs.  I may sing, shout, sway and pray, but if I hate the discipline of God and ignore His precepts, I’m just a fool gonna live foolish.  This explains a whole lot of church (the wise amongst us will say to ourselves, “This explains a whole lot of my life.”).

Here is the other thing that explains a lot of church.  The rest of Ps.  111:10:  “…a good understanding have all those who do His commandments.“  This is why many students at excellent Christian colleges can be so unfamiliar with their familiar Bibles, and why seminary can be so wholly unproductive.  You don’t gain wisdom by merely reading or even studying the Bible, but by doing it.  In other words, if you don’t come to it already bowed low in your heart, fearing God and forcefully subjecting your thinking to His, you won’t get much out of it.  You can faithfully read it for years, but still be as foolish as when you found it.

Back to my story.  I was reading Ps. 119, thinking about this guy’s personal thoughts on gay church-goers which he was making public, and shaking inwardly for him.  I had a picture of a Bible, dusty on a shelf in His house, in a version he couldn’t understand.  “Isn’t he scared to spout opinions with no idea what God says?” He was not scared.  Not at all.  I was grappling.   How could he not be scared?  My heart was broken for him.  About my age, and already a failed marriage and a toddler girl he and his ex throw back and forth, and still spouting ungodly opinions like he had something to say.  And the perfect answer sitting unconsulted on His shelf.  This is the plight of the fool.

Lest anyone be concerned that I somehow think myself better, I have to tell you the truth.  I majored in foolishness.  No, literally.  If we could define foolishness (or one glaring aspect of it) as thinking you have something to say while willfully ignorant of what God’s said, then I really did major in foolishness.  I was a philosophy major, and even in my immature state of shaking the salad dressing, even I picked up on a few problems during my time in that esteemed department.

Number one problem:  it was understood that only stupid people accepted authority of scripture as establishing anything as true.  Sure, that was fine for a catechism, but we are thinkers and this is not sunday school.

Number two problem:  most of the people in the department were personally obnoxious to some degree due to their superiority complexes or social ineptitude, or became so with every year advanced in study.

Number three problem:  in the esteemed intellectual laboratory, all faith was placed in our own human abilities to lead us to the right conclusions.  The concept is that if the thinking is challenged rigorously enough, this must work.  Except that once again, we are just our own human standard.  Just as the alpha male monkey who struts his stuff inside the cage is still only comparing himself to other monkeys, while two year olds make fun of him just outside the glass.  Augustine and a few other Christians on the shelf knew our minds were not supreme, but as students we were not taught this, but to study them and then determine if they were right.  See the conundrum?  Why not just wear t-shirts saying, “I am God, except while I’m in church”?  If only the Philosophy department had one foundational class that explains the Biblical concept that pride equals foolishness, maybe people wouldn’t waste their lives searching after something their own heart condition guarantees they will not find.  But then maybe there wouldn’t be a Phil department left; I don’t know.

AAAAAAAAuuuuuuuuggggggghhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  The tragedy of spending hours, months, years reading, studying, poring over the thoughts of ungodly, unsanctified, (many of them) God-hating fools (Ps. 53:1, Ps. 14:1), and neglecting the WORD HIMSELF.  It stirs me to, well, to cry out for wisdom.

³¹ The ear that hears the rebukes of life
Will abide among the wise.
³² He who disdains instruction despises his own soul,
But he who heeds rebuke gets understanding.  Prov.15

Oh, God, send the righteous rebukes my way!  I long for your wisdom.  I long to obey, but my thoughts are futile apart from your instruction.  Send me truthspeakers, send me wise leadership, open up your secrets to me!  And then clarify my mind, in the Spirit of Elijah, to tell the truth in the face of the compromised, undiscerning, confused Christianity that proclaims peace without obedience and forgiveness without fear of God…

¹⁶ But to the wicked God says:
“What right have you to declare My statutes,
Or take My covenant in your mouth,
¹⁷ Seeing you hate instruction
And cast My words behind you?
¹⁸ When you saw a thief, you consented^[a] with him,
And have been a partaker with adulterers.
¹⁹ You give your mouth to evil,
And your tongue frames deceit.
²⁰ You sit and speak against your brother;
You slander your own mother’s son.
²¹ These things you have done, and I kept silent;
You thought that I was altogether like you;
But I will rebuke you,
And set them in order before your eyes.  Ps. 50

My son, if you receive my words,
And treasure my commands within you,
² So that you incline your ear to wisdom,
And apply your heart to understanding;
³ Yes, if you cry out for discernment,
And lift up your voice for understanding,
⁴ If you seek her as silver,
And search for her as for hidden treasures;
⁵ Then you will understand the fear of the LORD,
And find the knowledge of God.
⁶ For the LORD gives wisdom;
From His mouth come knowledge and understanding…  Prov 2:1-6

“Judah is a lion’s whelp.”  –Jacob, Jewish father

We can relate.  Jacob had 11 other sons to take care of, which is something for us to keep in mind in our particularly tired moments.  Judah David is like several tons of explosive force packed into a 35 lb. body.  He’s the only person I know with a barrel chest and chubby cheeks.  He was born ripped and ready to go.  The adventure does not stop from the moment he wakes up and yells, “Daddy, get me BREAKFAST!!!”  Don’t think we haven’t worked with him on the bossiness factor, we have.  And he’s doing great at getting it.  But giving orders comes as naturally to this guy as breathing.  If we had his DNA analyzed, I think it would come back X-Y-B-O-S-S.  We have conversations about “Who’s in charge?” at least four times a day.  For years now.

It’s a trip to spend the day with someone who cannot verbalize even the smallest detail without speaking emphatically and throwing in a few extra decibals, but also needs tons of hugs and kisses.  “Mama, when I’m BIG I’m gonna go to PRESCHOOL and be with ARIEL???”  Yes, and we might have to give the other kids some earplugs.

Parenting him has been more educational than I could have imagined.  We’re committed to keeping his force intact, while equipping him to submit to authority as forcefully as he can lead others.  I understand many dynamics we’ve come across in prayer for people so much better.  For instance, for many young men we have prayed for, rejection from dad and manipulation from mom were major forces for distorting the design God had for them.  I have more understanding for how that happens.  Trying to shape his force is intensely challenging. (As I write this, Judah has brought over a little lawn chair and set it up on the couch to watch the truck video I have playing on the computer screen.  “No, Judah, that is not safe.”  He has tried to play drums on my head.  “No, Judah, we don’t drum on Mama’s head.”  Followed by kisses on my head.  He tried to watch the movie a little longer, then experimented with barrelling his head into my side to see if he is strong enough to push me to the side.  “Hey, Judah, let’s pause the movie.  I need you to push those big wooden chairs across the room.  Thanks, Buddy!!”)  It requires me being more forceful than him, without any loss of tenderness.  Not more forceful in volume or selfishness, but in certainty and authority.  It doesn’t come naturally to me, and hugely stretches me.

Note:  From the time Samuel came home from the hospital, Judah has called him “BAMuel.”  Why?  Probably for the same reason he calls himself “BEEF.”  You can say it loud and strong.

And the truth is, while I get stretched to walk in my authority, it’s ultimately simply not enough for this young man.  Shaping him requires the big guns…he needs DAD.  He needs Dad to be intensely interested in him, insistent on his obedience, devoted to his cause, and consistently disciplining without any anger.  Last night, we had a freedom class in our house with some amazing people of God.  OJ asked the question of the men in class, “Which of you had someone, a father or discipler, who said to you, ‘I see who you are, the unique greatness of your design, and I am going to walk alongside of you and fight everything that would block it, to make sure that you walk into it fully?’”  I don’t think we’ve ever asked that and received an a confidently affirmative answer.  Most parents (great parents!) are just trying to keep their little warriors from burning things down, so the parenting emphasizes reigning in, reigning in, reigning in, rather than harnessing and empowering.  Even though many men have had wonderful Dads, this fullness requires such wholeness from Dad, it is rare on the earth.  It’s something that has to be received first, in order to be given.  So the lack of it is a self-perpetuating cycle.  But this is what God will restore to those who are hungry for it.  Mal 4

Before Judah was born, the Lord told us that he would be extremely forceful, drawn to power, and very driven.  I remember at seven months telling our pastor, “He seems so mild.  Maybe we heard wrongly.”  They wisely said to wait a few more months because you often don’t see the personality until age one or two.  And sure enough…wow.  We also heard that he would have a hero’s heart and want to follow his daddy everywhere.  Now, I know that’s true of all boys to some extent, but I have never seen anything like this little guy for needing his Daddy.  In the night, I can’t comfort him.  Since he was a small baby,  it has had to be Daddy.  He doesn’t speak about “Daddy,” but about “MY Daddy.”  “Where’s MY Daddy?”

For me, this has brought single parenting into a whole new light.  (Update: In the last paragraph, I told Judah not to jump in the crib while Samuel is laying in it, not to to “pat” Samuel’s head that hard, and not to throw the rubber blocks at him, as 8 month olds cannot catch.)  What would I do with Judah without DAD?  What would Judah do without DAD?  The thought instantly clarifies the horror of the injustice.  A Judah without a Daddy is like a pistol without a safety.  What would a single mommy do?  Only one choice:  disarm that thng.  The same effect can be in place in a two parent family, if Dad’s walking in passivity (which, having prayed for hundreds of people now, I can confidently say is a CHRONIC problem).

Sometimes I am completely at a loss.  Panic approaches.  I’d better reign him in now, lest the grumpy lady at the grocery store say, “Can’t you keep that kid quiet?”  How can I possibly contain this little force?  Without the wisdom of God, I would turn to what sometimes seems like the only option.  Even the strongest little guy has a God-given “weakness” for the women in his life.  Think of Samson.  Women manipulate their men and/or little men because it works.  It sneaks into discipline so easily.   “Think of how that makes Mommy feel.  Look at how exasperated I am.  Look at how hard you just made my life.  Can’t you just…???  You had better do that now, or else I will…”  I confess, I have done it.  Ick.  But it distorts the little developing soul, and creates an iceberg of buried anger that is not easily melted in the rebellious teenager, numb young man, or insensitive young husband who is passed to his new wife to sort out…  Thank you, Jesus, that it is so easy at two to say, “Judah, Mommy is SO sorry.  Will you forgive me?”  Bye-bye, iceberg.

Excuse me for a moment.  “Judah, don’t lay on Samuel.”

Sometimes, well-meaning folks get frustrated with Judah.  Sometimes even on our behalf.  They see his force and misinterpret it.  Or they see his sin and rightly interpret it, without eyes to see what he will become with careful discipleship.  Or they think our discipline should have made more progress by now, and they could do it better.  This is a very simple way to bring out the lionness in mommy, although she is old enough to gulp down her growls.  Sometimes I just want to ask, What do you think Winston Churchill was like as a child?  Or Abraham Lincoln?  What about Simon Peter?  Great men always make a stir, and it’s gonna be a pretty messy stir when said great man is two.  And yes, we could do better.   But God is faithful to people who are desperate, and cry out for his help.  We are not joking when we talk about “carpet time.”  Prayer life with a lion cub is very, very real, and the fruit or lack thereof is no mystery.

But God has been faithful to hear our noisy cries.  While we often have dark circles under our eyes, inside you’ll see a bright sparkle.  Having a boy?  Without hesitation, we’ll spill all over ourselves to tell you from our experience with a lion cub…”THEY’RE SO MUCH FUN!!!!!!!!!”

Judah at 18 months - a video from the vault.

This may be a cheesy name for it, but I’ve been thinking for the past couple days about this assignment, which I take with the utmost seriousness:

⁴ “Listen, O Israel! The Lord is our God, the Lord alone. ⁵ And you must love the Lord your God with all your heart, all your soul, and all your strength. ⁶ And you must commit yourselves wholeheartedly to these commands that I am giving you today. ⁷ Repeat them again and again to your children. Talk about them when you are at home and when you are on the road, when you are going to bed and when you are getting up.  Deut 6:4-7  (NLT)

So…my job is to figure out how to get As Much Scripture As Possible into my kiddos.  Thus, “Mission: AMSAP.”  At home, on the road, going to bed, and getting up.  That pretty much covers it.

Someday I’d like to write more deeply about this, about the hope of raising godly children and the promises of God over our kids; it’s a deep passion of mine.  But tonight, I’m just going to ask for help on a very practical level.  I know I’ve got some mommy friends out there (Hi, Kates and Carrie!), and we’re all searching for ways to write the word of God on their little hearts.  I heard a woman speak so practically a few weeks ago, with a bunch of materials displayed at the front of the room.  But get this!  She wasn’t a ’speaker’ or a ‘presenter,’ she was a mom who had done it, raised fiery kids brimming over with the Word, and her “display” was the dogeared books that she’d read her kids for years, CD’s and movies from her home collection.  And I took notes like MAD!  That wasn’t just valuable to me, it was a goldmine.  One of her ideas was to put on CD’s of the scripture (starting with the adventure stories of the OT historical books) for her boys every nap and nighttime, when they were little. So simple!  She used a production read by actors using the New LIving Translation called Bible Alive. So Ariel got a CD player for Christmas!

The point is, the practical stuff is gold.  So I’ll share what I find, and please share with me what you find!!!  I’ll provide updates on Mission:AMSAP periodically if there’s something worth sharing.

If you began to read this blog hoping for wild adventures in travel and evangelism, and feel tricked into reading a preschool periodical, I apologize.  This is currently my main mission field, although not our only mission field.  Three little disciples who share our last name and penchant for verbosity…  This will not be the only adventures in travel and evangelism we have to share, but in this season, it’s our forte. But if you’ve ever met Judah, you’ll agree that the adventures are still pretty wild.

On that note, I was trying to find some new music today.  Scripture songs.  You know you love ‘em!  I’ll bet most of you will start humming the same tune I am as I write these words:

“This is the day, (this is the day) that the Lord has made (that the Lord has made), I will rejoice…

Okay, so maybe that little ditty doesn’t bring back the remembrance of transformational encounters with the living God, but His word never returns void, so even if you learned that in the basement of a veteran’s hall with sheets hung on clotheslines to separate the sunday school classes by age (a window into one of my childhood church facitilities), that truth will never ever die for all eternity.  And any day we actually choose to believe it immediately is instantly transformed.  How about that for a nursery rhyme?

So today I was searching for nice (free, I’ll admit it) downloads of scripture songs for kids.  It didn’t go so well!  Here’s a sample of what I found:  01_behold_a_virgin_shall_be_with_child_mathew_1-23.

Umm…didn’t go over real well with the munchkins.  In fact, I couldn’t get them to even listen.

But then there’s the Bentley brothers.  I can’t peel the kids away from this, and it cracks me up, too:

They’re on a fabulous site called jellytelly.com, produced by Phil Vischer of Veggie Tales fame.  The Fabulous Bentley Brothers are making songs for every book of the Bible, and they always start by listing the previous books, as you’ll see at the beginning of the clip.  My niece Glorie’s been watching these for a while, and now recites effortlessly the book order.  And she’s two.  Once again, GOLD!

So I’m searching for gold, friends.  I’ll throw out one more thing that I love, and then leave you to hit the comment form or shoot me an email with your finds.  Here’s my favorite children’s book.

I cry every time I read the kids Blind Bartimaeus’ story out of this book.  Getting emotional right now, just thinking of it.  in fact, I can’t think of a better source for a closing line.
“…But best of all, Bartimaeus saw Jesus.”

Nighty-night!

OJ let me have a nap today, and so I’m up late.  So I thought I would relieve some of you who still have “What’s the Name of that Song?” stuck in your head by replacing it with something better.  I started looking at some videos of a hero of ours, Keith Green.  Here’s one that I loved.

Themes in the videos?

1.  Crowds of young people with joy on their faces.

2.  An artist at the piano.

3.  An artless preacher.

4.  Power.

5.  Did I mention the crowds of young people?

I was watching, nearly druelling…how, how, how can we reach thousands of young people?  How can we reach them?  How do we get them rushing to worship together in every city in America?  How can the gospel go out like that?

I had to laugh at this interview.  The poor host…he can’t seem to engage in what KG actually says.  He seems to want to talk about everything but what Keith keeps talking about–the Gospel and obedience to Jesus Christ.  It’s funny, but also not.  (poor paraphrase follows)

KG:  “I preach the Lordship of Jesus Christ.  People are going to church not even realizing they’re not saved.”

Host: “I just love that you’re back in town!  It sure is fun how you communicate!”

KG:  “So we’re supposed to little Christs…the show is easy.  But whether I preach Jesus on streets and live it out at home is the bottom line.”

Host:  “So…you’re Jewish, eh?”

It struck me while watching these videos (as someone who longs for a radical revival among youth in America and around the world) how simple it was.  I was only just born for most of Keith’s ministry, so these videos are precious windows into that time.  With all our crazy efforts, here’s what struck me about Keith from these videos.  He was dead long before his plane went down.  Dead to himself.  The music was an extension of a pure life laid down for Jesus.  The power flowed and the young people came.

When Keith died, he was on the verge of doing a tour around the West coast, recruiting for world missions.  He had personally asked the Lord for 100,000 missionaries to go into all the world.  He died right before the tour started, but Loren Cunningham and Keith’s wife Melody decided to go ahead with it, playing a video of Keith’s last concert, in which he called the missionaries to go.  I once heard Loren say that many more than 100,000 ended up going.

Lord Jesus, where’s the Keith of our generation???  Final thought:

The bad news keeps rolling in.  There’s enough bad news to depress me and a hundred Richard Simmons look-alikes for years.  It’s true.  Has anyone else noticed?  I shudder to be detailed, but consider the previous three posts to be just the beginning.  I won’t comment on a bailout that has yet to be fully read by…anybody? though already voted in.  Worldwide economic crisis.  What’s an economic crisis if you’re already…well, here’s an eye-opening video.  I read a statement by Britain’s minister of conservation (may have that title wrong, but the guy in charge of the government’s ecology department) on the responsibility we have to reduce global population, basically calling it criminal to have more than two children per family.  That’s our old pal Britain, folks, not China.  Ms. Pelosi aligned us squarely with that sort of thinking repeating “NO apologies!” to G. Stephs about using the stimulus package to reduce federal costs (of healthcare and education) through funding abortion.  Less children, less healthcare and education, she says.  My hometown, Chicago, is breaking ground by opening the first public high school specifically for gay and lesbian students. Obama’s election was the first time I heard the media openly act offended at a preacher with mainstream values being invited to the inaugural.  There’s a lot more, but I’ll stop there.  For the first time in my life, I stuttered over the Pledge of Allegiance when I visited Ariel’s preschool the other day.  I will always love America.  But…something much better is coming.  I have joy.  Here’s why…

In the midst of crying out to God over the injustice (described in part in the previous post), I saw a picture that has stuck in my Spirit.  In it, was a small cave with a beautiful woman hunched over inside, unable to stand fully.  It was a simple picture.  She was getting attacked and pestered within the cave, and finally had to come out into the open.  When she did, the sunlight hurt her eyes for a moment, but she finally stretched out and stood tall in the sunshine.  She was stunning, and much, much stronger out in the danger zone that she had been while in hiding.  It was a picture of the church (I took it to be the American church), and the cave was friendship with the world.  For so many years, the church has thought that it is a good fit with society at large.  Lots of church folks’ idea of “reaching out” is to befriend the world so very, very nicely that they might think church is kinda cool.  You know, sneak attack.  “I think like you, I look like you, I talk like you, I’m concerned about your issues, I even watch the same stank on TV you watch.  On weekends, I pay $9.75 for it!  See, if I can do this Christian thing, you can, too!  Not as hard as you thought!”  But God’s committed to His Son’s bride.  So if she won’t kick the bedbugs out of her bed, God’s going to let ‘em bite!

It’s a bit circular.  The church keeps trying to befriend the world, she’s chasing favor, chasing favor, chasing favor from man.  She forgot that God said that friendship with the world is enmity with God.  Obviously, He can’t hand His power over to enemies.  No power, no converts.  No converts, more befriending.  More befriending, more enmity.  What will end the cycle?  When no matter how nice we play, we are abused, ridiculed, and offended, when they finally kick out the believing remnant from friendly society…well, the church will have to stand up.  And see how lovely she is.  Tall, overt, unapologetic, loving, truthful.

Powerful.  Not political.  At that point, she’ll be so unwelcome in politics, silly arguments will be outdated fast.  She’ll have money for the poor, because she’ll probably be mostly poor.  She’ll seek justice like crazy, because the oppressed will be…her.  She won’t be throwing change into the starbucks AIDS fund, she’ll be laying hands on the sick and seeing them healed.  She won’t be arguing with other believers about God’s power, because He’ll have settled those issues with some obvious displays, and every other believer will be so precious, she’ll long for their company.

She won’t be showy, rude, or ugly, because the shoes of the gospel are peaceful.  Someone who tells the gospel STRAIGHT is a lover.  A people lover, dying to make peace.  She won’t sell a soft gospel, talking about causes, races, or finding a place to be accepted, because she’ll have been humbled by waking up with the smell of the world on her and crying out for mercy.  All that stuff just comes out of a personal disassociation with the need for the Cross, anyway.  But she won’t have that anymore; because the Cross will save her (from titles, and compromise, and powerlessness, and glitzy self-promotion, and theological wranglings, and fleshy bandstands, and personal impurity, and widespread hypocrisy, and just plain confusion), and so she’ll take it up and bear it.  She’ll love much, because she’ll have been forgiven much.  Her kids won’t leave her out of boredom and weakness in their high school years  or for social justice and intellectualism in their college years, having found no deliverance from their sin.  They’ll grow up in the fire of God, and have no taste for the world.  Wow, good times are coming…I’m sure of it.