Malia and me at Awe Star Ministries, iGo Missions Conference this past weekend! It was amazing!


This past weekend was powerful! We had over 200 students from around the country who came to our Missions conference. God blessed and moved over us in amazing ways. Many are seeking His direction for serving on upcoming trips. Most went home with a passion to serve where they are now!

I love working with this generation of students. Their passion for our Savior is unequalled. Their love for one another is inspiring. Their desire to be found obedient is refreshing.

One such student attends Boyce Bible College in Louisville, Kentucky. I have not yet met him, but hope to soon. He recently got in touch with me and over a period of days, shared the following stories with me.


"Sometimes I look back on life before I was in high school and what my friends and I were like. Then I start to think about how we all changed when we got to high school. Now in college, I wonder what happened. The one thing that pops out the most in my past of high school, was a young man that moved to the school my freshman year from Carmel, IN. Though, at the time I was not a Christian, but after his example I became a Christian a little over a year later. Half of America today claims that God doesn't exist, but how can God not exist when a 15 year old boy laid down his life for the Christ. BJ, oh how I wish more would have realized how real the God is that you lived and died for. Today, I pray that you continue to be an example and help the lost in this world realize that your God is real...and I know this as fact because I know Him too!"

Example? Yes BJ is an example. But so is this young man!

We will call him Shawn.

Shawn grew up in central Indiana. He has three siblings. He was raised in a family who did not believe. Well, at least Shawn didn't.

As reasons for not doing so go, his was perhaps more understandable than most. Shawn is the oldest of four children. He found it impossible to believe for a long time. Impossible to believe that a loving, Holy God could exist with what he had witnessed.

When he was five years old, he was beside his mother and two of his three siblings, when the unthinkable happened.

His mother was murdered as he stood holding her hand.

A five year olds view of life is unique. An experience like this would cause many to be pressed to disbelief and an inability to trust. I cannot imagine the brokenness of watching the life ebb from my mother, as I stood over her.

Unforgiveness claimed his heart. Hate became his sidekick. He would never forgive one who would commit such a heinous act! Who could blame him?

Ten years later, a young man moved into his school district. He came from one of the premier schools in the state. This did not earn him favor among other students.

He was different. He was consistent. He was unusual because he regularly told people about his Savior. His words matched up to the way he lived his life. Others took notice. Shawn took notice.

He said, "It brings tears to my eyes when I think about how BJ treated me even when I wasn't a Christian, but he treated everybody else like that too.

A young man carrying bitterness... a deep secret that BJ didn't know... was impacted by a life of one who reached out to others, in love. He ran contrary to the world, and showed people that caring about others was important. Important, because His Savior loved. His Savior forgave.

Shawn had not spent much time contemplating forgiveness. His heart was hard towards the one.

But seeing the life of this young man brought new questions to his mind. He genuinely cared for others, and in the process, made him curious about this Savior.

He watched BJ spend time among those others cared nothing for. This spoke with significant volume. Who would do that. Why would they do it?

Later in life, Shawn would say, "The thing that struck me the most is that he would hang out with kids that others didn't want to hang out with, or made fun of, and he still never failed [to hold] his ground, even though it did get to him. It reminds me of what Jesus did throughout the Gospels!"

After he heard about BJ's death, he was drawn into deeper contemplation about what real "Truth" is. It caused him to begin to search. He connected with a youth pastor that took him under his wing. He learned more about forgiveness. He begin to long for it. He would surrender his life to the One who would forgive him.

He found his own sinful stench to be a wall that prevented him from forgiving himself, even after he had forgiven his mothers' murderer.

He bought "I Would Die for You," upon it's release. He learned more about loving and forgiving.

His youth pastor guided him into the deep forgiveness of self that had eluded him longer than anything else.

His life forever changed when He found Jesus Christ, the Saving One. When he learned to forgive a murderer, he eventually learned to forgive himself.

The Lord used a young man who loved Him so, to reveal His own likeness into the life of a bitter and broken soul.

Now he seeks to walk a similar life to that of His Savior. He attends a Bible College and is seeking to become a youth pastor! He is praying about joining us on the mission field next summer!

I praise God for Shawn. I am thankful that he was delivered from such a vile offense that caused him to rebel and grow bitter.

Today, he weeps for his former classmates who don't get it. They are seeking hard after the world, when Jesus is what they need. He wants to know, "who will tell them?"

He has surrendered his own life to do so. He is hoping we will surround him and do likewise!

Praise God for this generation of passionate students!

Oh, how He loves them so!


dad

A Turkana woman and child, selling tribal made charcoal, in Kenya


Today, we continue with Becky's story. She currently serves in Kenya, as a missionary. After graduating from high school, at 18, she followed God's call to go. Who among us is He calling to do likewise?


Right before I stepped on the rickety wooden stage, my youth pastor prayed for me. As he prayed, I truly believe I heard the voice of God for the first time in my life. It was not a voice booming from the heavens that I heard, it was more of a gentle whisper that said, “Tell the Beach Story.” It was the strangest thing that I had ever experienced in my life, and I had no idea what to do as I stepped up on the stage and grasped the microphone in my hand. It felt like I had a million thoughts buzzing through my brain at that very moment. What am I going to do? I do not even really remember that story. What if I make a fool out of myself in front of all these people? I am supposed to be a perfect smart girl, and they always follow the plan. I took a deep breath and remembered my prayer, crumpled up my planned testimony, and started to tell a story I did not remember or understand.


One day when I was little, my parents, my two younger brothers, and I decided to
go to the beach on one of the hottest days of the year. My sister was visiting a friend, so I was the oldest kid there and could not be more proud. As we spread our towels out on the hot sand, my father gave my brothers and I the routine talk about the rules. He told me not to swim past my waist and babbled on like most overprotective fathers do. I did not think much of it, and I decided to run off and play, my two little brothers trailing behind me. We had so much fun building sand castles, playing volleyball, and just being goofy kids. Eventually I decided that it was time to dip our toes in the water, after all it was very hot outside. My two little brothers followed me into the water as I began to look for seashells in the shallow end. We laughed carefree as the wind blew through our hair.

It was nice for me to get away from everything and just enjoy myself. After a while of wading in the shallow end of the water, I decided to go out a little deeper to find bigger shells. My brothers, of course, were trailing behind me. John, my youngest brother who was 4, was completely covered in sand and could not stop laughing or smiling at me. Tim on the other hand, had a quirky buck tooth grin of contentment. It felt so good to finally be the oldest and have my little brothers look up to me. As my brothers playfully wrestled around in the sand, my mind began to drift as I watched the body surfers in the distance. They looked like they could be out of a movie. They were all beautiful, laughing, smiling and very skillful. They looked like they were having way more fun than I was, so I wanted to try it.

I took a couple steps out towards their direction, and then I remembered what my dad said to me. I felt fine as I waded up to my knees in water, choosing to ignore my dad's warning. I slowly inched out further and further and my brothers followed me. Everything was fine, in fact the waves were better further out and my brothers and I were having fun just like the other kids. Obviously my dad did not know anything of what I was capable of, so I continued deeper into the water past my waist and convinced my brothers to body surf with me.

We were just like the older kids. It was such a good feeling conquering the waves and being the same as everyone else. After a while I was starting to get tired, so I asked my brothers if they wanted to go back. They agreed.

As I started to swim back towards shore, I realized I was paddling unusually hard with my limbs and I was not getting far. It was an unusual feeling for me because I was a good swimmer. I did not think anything of it and started to paddle harder.

I was not moving.

My heart started to race as I could start to feel my body being pulled out farther and farther by the water. I looked over at my brothers, and they were getting pulled in just like I was. John was crying as he kept paddling to keep his head above water, and Tim started to scream for help. I cannot describe to you how truly ashamed of myself I was at that moment in my life. The waves started to get bigger and bigger, crashing over my head. I could barely breathe as the waves beat up my body. I knew I could not handle it. I knew my dad was right. I knew it was my fault and no one else’s that my brothers and I were about to die.

As the waves approached me, at least 3 feet over my head, I screamed before my body was pulled under. As I sank, I knew I was going to die because nobody could hear our cries for help.

Facing death, I saw everything flash before my eyes; I would never graduate high school, I would never fall in love, I would never have kids, I would never get to truly experience life. The guilt that I felt was worse than any pain I have ever experienced in my life because I loved my brothers so much. I had no other idea what to do besides pray. I barely believed in God, but I prayed in desperation as I sank deeper and deeper, “God if you are out there save us!”

Immediately after I said that, I felt a hand pull me up to the surface. It was my dad. He and another man he met at the beach rescued me and my brothers. Questions of how did he get there so fast and how could he possibly hear us or know we were in trouble, filled my mind as my dad helped me. Once I was up to my waist in water and out of the undertow, my dad let me go, and I walked to the shore hanging my head in shame of what I had done.

As I saw him ahead of me on the shore, I knew I had to talk to him. I was prepared to face my punishment. I did not care what it was because I deserved it. When I looked my dad in the eye, he said nothing but the words “I love you,” as he hugged me.

I cried.

As I told my story on that stage all of the people around me began to cry, and I
felt the presence of God. He gave me the words that I did not know, and he helped me
explain to the people there what the story meant. In life when you see other people living in sin, it looks fun and glamorous, and when you first try, it is that way. Although it is enjoyable, it gets a hold of you, it consumes you, and there is only one way to escape and that is through Jesus, our Savior.

Even though we sin and do horrible things in life, Jesus is always going to be there for us if we call on his name, and he will not be there to say, "I told you so." He will be there to say “I love you.”

Until that very day as I stood in front of that crowd, I never understood what truly
[had] happened or why. That one experience has completely changed my life. I know now that God saved me because he loves me and wants to use me. Not a smart perfect girl... he wants me, Becky, as imperfect as I may be.

Since my trip to Africa my sophomore year, my faith in God has grown exponentially. I know that he has put a burden on my heart for the people of Africa and I know he has called me to serve over there. Every day I think about the people there, and want more than anything in the world to go back. Next year I am returning to Kenya, for a whole school year to work specifically with the children of Kenya that are living on the streets.


God is using her surrendered life! Her obedience to our Savior is changing lives in Kenya. I am so thankful for her testimony, which has really, only begun!

Next time, an update on the seamless way the Lord has hemmed her into her new home.

I pray that I as an adult, am not too far along in life to listen or respond to the voice of my Savior! When He calls, I need to respond, instantly. Just like Becky did. She did not know why or how to relate her story. She only knew she was supposed to. She did, and God drew many to Him.

He will do the same with my life, if I disregard my myriad reasons and road blocks. The more surrendered I remain, the more quickly He can draw others to Him!


dad

A gift we received from Becky, entitled, "Kenya." Plus an actual sunset from the border of Uganda and Kenya (from my trip there).


Over the coming days, I hope to write about and (whenever possible) use the words of, those who have gone to the field or have been impacted by BJ's surrendered life. There are sooo many stories to share. It's only fair to share them with you, since many of you have followed this blog from the beginning.

We have been overwhelmed over the past two years, with how many people we have heard from. Quite literally, we hear from believers around the world. Somehow, the Lord has placed our book in the hands of people whom He then inspires. Many of them have written to us. Some we maintain correspondence with.

Each story is compelling in its own way. I pray you are blessed by them. They are just too moving to not share.

The above photo is of a painting completed by a young woman currently serving in Kenya! I began hearing from her after she finished reading "I Would Die for You." She had already served in Kenya for a short time, when she was 15. She was led of the Lord to return upon graduation from high school. She is currently serving for around a year. We were blessed to be able to help support her with funds from "BJ's Hope" (the scholarship fund endowed by MercyMe's song "I Would Die for You," and other private donations).

Here is part one of her story, in her words:


My name is Rebecca (Becky). I was born and raised in Wisconsin. I have a mom, a dad, an older sister, and two younger brothers. Recollecting my childhood memories, I can say that my family was far from perfect, despite my mother's attempt to impress others in public. My dad worked as a traveling salesman. So while he was gone most of the time, my working mother was left home with four children to care for. Before I go into detail, I must make it clear (because I know that you are legally bound to report abuse) that my present situation at home now is different, and my brothers and I are not being emotionally or physically harmed at all, in anyway.

Although my relationship with my mother is great now, things were not always that way. My mother verbally and physically abused me. Although I am not proud of what I have been through, I recognize what happened to me and know that I am stronger because of it.

When I was young, I lived most of my childhood in the fear, never understanding why my mother would be so angry at me, or what her anger would lead her to do. Most commonly, she would verbally abuse me. “Worthless,” “stupid,” and “an accident,” were the names I usually responded to when she was upset.

When she was very upset and became physical with her anger, I chose to be unresponsive because it was my only way of coping with the situation. Constantly I felt trapped, I had no one to talk to about the situation, and after a while I was deceived into thinking that I deserved what happened to me. I am unable to describe the situation in great detail because it is too painful to discuss. Please, just trust me when I say my childhood was less than perfect.

I went to a Christian school. On the whole, I disliked the school because I did not belong. The average class size at this school was 6 kids. I was very fortunate to receive a superior education but I suffered socially for the majority of my adolescence. I had no friends at school, and I felt the pains of loneliness in my heart.

In my seventh grade year my male teacher told me that I could never accomplish my dream of becoming a doctor because I was a woman. It hurt so much to go to school and feel like I would never amount to anything no matter how hard I tried. [After this, I had] to go home and go through my family’s struggles and have no control over [that] situation.

I am ashamed to say that I thought about suicide a lot, as a child. [I was] too naive to have any idea how to do it. I had nothing worth living for. I did not matter at school. I felt I was not loved at home, and the existence of God was a joke in my life.

My mother was a proclaimed Christian and made my family go to church every Sunday.
She would raise the same hands she would hit me with to God and try to impress
everyone. Using my simple reasoning as a child, I knew that I never wanted to be like my mother. My mother was a Christian, so naturally I did not want to have anything to do with God.

Going into my eighth grade year, my life finally started to look a little better. My parents decided to send me to public school [where] I had [the] hope of real friends. I was very apprehensive as my class size shifted from 2 to 200. I was in complete culture shock. I found out very quickly that I did not know how to socially interact with my new classmates. I was never really taught how.

Eventually kids got curious as to who I was. [When] I told them that I was from a private school where I read literary classics and was taught Latin, I automatically had the label “smart girl” branded onto my forehead. Although most kids would hate the "smart girl,” label, I absolutely loved it because I was finally something. I had something I could live up to, something that people would know me by, other than worthless. Things were looking up for me, I actually had friends.

As things improved for me at public school, home life became better. My dad got a new job where he was able to be home more and help my mother.

As freshman year approached, my mom told me that I had to start going to my
church's youth group. I was not overly excited about the idea but I went because I was willing to do anything to try and make my mother love me.

At my youth group people were very impressed because I knew the Bible very well. Quoting Scripture I had to memorize while I was at [Christian school], people recognized that I had impressive biblical knowledge for a 14 year old. Similar to public school, the people at my youth group labeled me, “smart, perfect girl,” and I did not mind because I could finally be something other than worthless.

I thought I had everything figured out as I entered high school. People at school
and my church had an expectation of me to be a smart perfect girl. I could finally
fulfill what people wanted me to be. I did everything that a smart perfect girl would do, I aced all of the challenging classes I took, I was involved in numerous clubs. I volunteered on a regular basis.

When I was offered the opportunity to go to Kenya, Africa with my youth group, I decided to go. [I was] merely thinking it would be another thing to add to my lengthy list of accomplishments that would impress college admissions offices.

While we were in Kenya our team set up a water purification system, converted a
car to run on cooking oil, established a church, established a computer college that would help educate people, and most importantly held open air crusades. The crusades that we did took place in crowded market places in the slums of Nairobi. Hundreds of
people gathered to watch us. Sharing a testimony of what God has done in your life at
one of these crusades was a requirement to be a part of this team.

Public speaking has always been a fear of mine, so naturally I was not ready to jump up and speak. Luckily, my teammate Christina went before me. Christina had recently become a Christian and had incredible faith, but little knowledge about the Bible and its teachings. Because she was so inexperienced, I did not expect anything great to come out of her speaking; however, I was completely blown away by what she said.

When she talked people were moved. I specifically remember her praying for this old man, and when she did he fell to his knees and wept. What Christina did that night made me re- think everything about how I had been living my life. It made me question if I really knew God. I knew about his word, but I realized that I truly did not know him. That very night I prayed from my heart for the first time ever.

The next day our team was getting ready to do another open air crusade, and it
was my turn to speak. I was more nervous than I have ever been in my life, but I knew that I was going to be alright, because I had everything I was going to say all planned out. My testimony was very lengthy and impressive, using many large vocabulary words in hopes of impressing people and living up to the perfect smart girl expectations.

Right before I stepped on the rickety wooden stage, my youth pastor prayed for me. As he prayed, I truly believe I heard the voice of God for the first time in my life. It was not a voice booming from the heavens that I heard, it was more of a gentle whisper that said, “Tell the Beach Story.” It was the strangest thing that I had ever experienced in my life, and I had no idea what to do as I stepped up on the stage and grasped the microphone in my hand.


Her story will continue... be sure to come back by to hear "The Beach Story."

(Becky gave her blessing to share her testimony. Some of her story has been edited, and names changed, to protect her family. She continues to serve in Kenya, and covets our prayer support! She is just 18.)


dad

a national treasure in Santiago de Chuco, Peru


In a month, Deanna has a landmark birthday. To be sure she does not forget that she is entering the autumn of her life, a national organization sent her a membership card. One she did not request.

With this card, she can get discounts at hotels, and on meals at restaurants, etc. She reminded me we would soon be taking our evening meal at 4:30 in the afternoon. Apparently, when this card arrives in the mail, it becomes obligatory.

The only problem with this is that I don't get off until 5:00. Perhaps I could begin my day a half hour earlier to accommodate this life change. I'm certain I'll be ready to eat then. We currently don't wait much past that. Just ask my children.

Not that long ago, I wrote of becoming a member of another fraternity. We did not seek to join this one either. Perhaps this first one coming along when it did, has positioned us for a smoother transition beyond the life season of summer.

In many respects, it often feels like winter, though it seems yesterday, we were walking among new floral representations of life.

That metaphor actually doesn't work well for me. I like winter. I miss the snow. The last two winters it has snowed while I have been sporting short sleeves on the other side of an ocean somewhere. It was all gone upon my return. I leave in December, so perhaps it is coming again.

Deanna was not happy to see her new membership card. They expected her to pay a fee.

Come to think of it, we had to pay a fee last time... at least this time we can decline. You know, postpone the inevitable. She tore it up and threw it away. I tried to find it so I could talk in more detail about it. We don't own a shredder, at least I didn't think we did. That card is unrecognizable! So is all of the accompanying paperwork. If she bores of teaching, she has another marketable skill.

She promises mine will be along soon. I'm quite sure that won't happen for at least another year or two. Yes, our birthdays are only two days apart, but I am convinced that staff at my work (where her card showed up?) will intercept this little inflammatory credential and discard it (at least I have given them instructions to). Besides, I'm leaving the country on my birthday, and being a recent development, surely this national "association" will not know how to find me.

This organization goes by an acronym. Don't ask my wife what it is. She adds unnecessary letters when speaking of it. Actually, I like her version better. IT makes me laugh.

I don't feel old... most of the time.

My eyes don't work right, neither does my metabolism. I am reminded of the verse in James 1 that talks about seeing yourself in the mirror and then forgetting what you look like when you walk away. Actually, that could be a virtue when you get to this stage. I like remembering what I looked like when I was... younger. I do it all of the time. It's how I see myself.

I apologize that the rest of you have to look at the current version of me. The one in my head is far more attractive!

Anyway, the organization that I AM a part of didn't cost me anything to join. However, it was terribly expensive. In that fraternity, I don't have to worry about the inconveniences mentioned above! I get to deny myself, daily. I get to serve the One I love, and oh how He loves me, so!

I don't need a membership card, the handbook is supernatural.

Even the mirror is pointless. All members who look into it see the same thing...

Christ alone!


dad

Rooftop Worship in Huamachuco!


Some of the most beautiful and powerful times of worship I have experienced, have been on the rooftops of places we've stayed (overseas). We could see for miles. We saw the vastness of the lost. We could count His creation. We did not let the rocks cry out before us... but heard them echo His glory! How I long for Him.

I find that I am most fulfilled when I am doing what He has created me to do. Areas of giftedness that I never knew when I was young, have come to be a part of His purpose for me. My greatest joy comes in times of obedience. My greatest frustration emerges, when I am following my own desires.

The sense of His pleasure in me comes when resting in Him. The sense of my pleasure in Him comes from the intimacy born out of denying self, and seeking His face.

Knowing all of this, why do I struggle perpetually, with submission?

I am routinely reminded that He does not need me.

I am, however, thankful that He longs for me and my obedience.

Part of what He has created me to do is to raise awareness of these things in others. I thrive when I am before those He has called me to. Though I suffer, I thrive.

I would rather suffer following Christ, than suffer after engaging in the pleasures at my own hand.

So many have never known His pleasure in them. So many are desperate to be loved. So many are desperate to love, but don't realize it. So much of who we are is hidden behind yet another decision to fill up our lives with promised instant pleasure... pleasure that once again, fails to deliver.

It fails because we seek our own hand, and not His.

Things I never expected to do in life, have become part of my purpose. Not because I wished it so, but because He seeks to direct my submitted life.

Yielding to Him, brings Him glory. Following Him, brings Him glory. Reaching out for Him, brings Him glory. Speaking for Him, brings Him glory. Suffering for Him brings Him glory.

Doing all of the same things for my own pleasure, multiplies frustration and prolongs a sense of failure. I don't like failure. I am weary of frustration. If the "joy of the Lord is my strength," then I must seek His will and not my own. I cannot expect to find "joy" in my selfishness. Rather, "joy" must be found in selfLESSness.

Jesus bids us to 'die, take up our cross and follow Him'... not 'live, crucify others to supplement pleasure and lead.'

Dying is hard because we have to yield.

Living is hard because we try to carry the burden ourselves.

Dying is a lighter load, because He's doing the heavy lifting.

In living, you will die.

In dying, you already live!

I need to go and shout it again, from the rooftops!

"You died, and your life is hidden with Christ, in God." Col 3:3

He's drawing me... it's time to elevate!


dad

Kuna children


This blog will be hard for some to read. I caution you to proceed at your own risk.

The remains of another child, found in a Georgia landfill, have been identified. She is the precious seven year old who went missing off of the streets of Florida, while walking home from school.

Our world is spiraling out of control. When we take children and use them as our means of sexual gratification, and then throw them away, we have reached the lowest of lows.

This story rises to the surface amid the clamor of the child sex trade being alive and well in the USA. For a long time, we heard it was prevalent in many Asian countries and we've seen similar stories play out on television cop shows as though this trade was active here.

It's not that I doubt it, it's that I wanted to believe it was not so. I wanted to believe that we were not that sick. I wanted to believe... but I can't any longer. It's here. They are being abused and they are dying. What are we gonna do about it?

Some have started missions for those rescued from this slavery, and tend to their needs. Others go and serve in these same places. This is good. It is a blessing for those rescued, but it is not enough.


When I was young, I was traveling with my family. We had stopped at a restaurant to eat. We were either traveling with friends, or had met them there at this diner. Conversation was in full swing, and I was focused on eating. I sought to clean my plate while my parents talked to our friends.

Nearing the end of the meal, I asked to be excused to go to the restroom. I believe I was probably around the age of 6. I was little for my age.

As I stood at a urinal in the restroom, the door opened. I glanced over my shoulder to see one of the restaurant workers enter. I could tell by his clothing and the pointy hat he wore. He was likely the cook or dishwasher, I wasn't sure which. He was probably in his late teens to twenties. I am afraid I was not a good judge of age at that time. However, I have not forgotten his look.

Just as I finished my business and moved to zip up and then wash my hands, I will never forget what happened next.

In my motion to move, he stepped forward. He was tall and lean. I was short and... defenseless. He reached down and grabbed me. What he did to me, he had no right to do. The entire encounter probably only lasted a few seconds, but it seemed like eternity.

Today, when I think back, I am surprised that he let me leave. I hurried out and back to my waiting family. I was sick at my stomach.

I did not understand what had just happened but I knew it was wrong. This was before the days of teaching children about "good touch, bad touch."

I did not know what to do or say. I sat in a daze. I tried not to think about it, but I couldn't help it. At some point, my parents realized something was wrong. They were very kind and loving. I wasn't sure if I should tell them. I wasn't sure if I could tell them. I didn't want to get into trouble.

My father persisted until I told my story. Then he disappeared.

I don't know what he did about it. He was gone for a while, talking to the manager I assume.

We left.

I remember staring out the window not knowing what to think. What had just happened to me was not a common occurrence in that day. At least it did not routinely get publicity.

Years later, when I was in junior high, I had a math teacher who was "very friendly." I was small for my age. I was naive. During class, he would come to answer questions at my desk. While answering them, he would put his hand on my leg and begin to rub it. He proceeded up my leg. He went too far.

Other students joked about him being a pervert. He had done this to others as well.

Years later when I was in high school, I had an early morning paper route. He began to show up on my route and hunt for me. We call it stalking, today.

One morning when I had had all I could take, I ran up to his little green Pinto, and screamed at him at the top of my lungs. I told him to leave me alone. I never saw him on my route after that.

While I was in college, I was foreman on a landscape crew during the summer. My team and I were landscaping a yard, when I noticed this same man come out of the house next door and begin to watch me. He lived there. It was a big job and I was going to have to be here for several days.

I was suddenly six again and I acted like it. I was sick at my stomach. I wanted to go an throw up. I wanted to go and "punish him."

I was very fortunate. I survived.

I have moved past most of this... except for the sickness I feel every time I hear of another child being kidnapped, abused and killed.

We serve a God who loves us desperately. He has given us wisdom. We often use in it perverse fashion. We have taken the technology for the internet and put horrendous pictures and video on it. It compels many who are perverse of mind, forward. It is so easy to get our hands on that which we should not access in the first place.

Many start out innocently enough, and soon through pop-up screens, etc, are taken into a world that they cannot or will not get out of.

We must do more. I survived. Many are not. Many are dying while we shake our heads and say, I'm sure glad that wasn't my child.

We have the mind of Christ! Let us begin to use it for His glory and the deliverance of the defenseless.


dad

A Kuna Indian woman in her village in Panama

Here is my updated schedule:
October 23 Ok Baptist Academy, Enid Ok
November 6-8 iGo Missions Conference, Ridgeway BC, Sapulpa, Ok
November 29th Ridgeway BC, Sapulpa, Ok
December 1-9 Set-up trip to Venezuela
2010
February 3 Wed night service (unconfirmed)
February 3-5 Spiritual Emphasis Week, Indian Rocks Christian School, Tampa, Fla
February 5-7 Disciple Now, FBC Marion, Arkansas
February 16-18 Chapel/Missions training for Dallas Christian College, Dallas, Tx
February Missions Sunday in Pflugerville, Tx (date unconfirmed)
March 13-20 Nuevo Laredo, Mexico, Mission trip



This past weekend I was afforded the privilege of preaching three times in two different churches. First at a student retreat and then for a Sunday morning service. What a blessing it is to be able to proclaim the love of our Savior, and to disciple those who love Him!

This coming Friday, I am traveling to Enid, Oklahoma (I've never been there) to speak to high school students. I am excited about going!


I am at times, overwhelmed, at how fast and furious the enemy attacks the weaknesses of believers. I see believers who have battled through much in this life, fall prey to bitterness of heart, sexual immorality and much more.

I must intensify my prayer assault on behalf of each of these.

Have you noticed that the words, "I understand" can get you into trouble?

I think I first realized this, when sympathetic people were offering their condolences to our family, and we heard the phrase often. It is meant to imply, "I am so sorry for your situation," for "your loss," or "I empathize with your circumstances."

Unfortunately, to those in grief, these two words somehow diminish or cheapen the pain of their experience. Especially, when those who speak the words, also offer up a situation that does not begin to compare, as evidence.

Pain is relative. There is no way to compare it except in ones own experience.

For example, I have experienced the loss of my grandparents, aunts, uncles, very dear friends, my father and finally my son. In my own experience, the loss of my grandparents, pales dramatically, in comparison to the loss of my father. There is no way these two experiences are congruent.

Frequently, those who struggle with what to say, and those who are sure they know what to say, offer the same phrase... "I understand."

In truth, they do not. Not even close.

I never knew this was an issue until I heard it over and over again from those who meant well, but have never walked in my shoes.

Their intent is always the best.

Their words often inflamed my ire.

I share this today, because recently, we have seen others suffer similarly. (I truly do not mean to step on the toes of those who have supported us. I just think it is important to NOT tell people you understand something you cannot possibly comprehend.)

Not long ago, we found ourselves on the ugly end of this. What I mean by that, is someone dear to us was expressing the immense difficulty of their own experience in coping with a situation we have never been through.

Innocently, but with empathetic intent, we offered up, "I understand."

We were shocked when the reaction from the individual was, "NO YOU DON'T, YOU CANNOT POSSIBLY UNDERSTAND BECAUSE YOU HAVE NEVER BEEN THROUGH THIS! NO ONE UNDERSTANDS!"

How quickly came back the haunting borders of bitterness we camped on when while grieving!

We should have known better. We should have said, "I am so sorry" or "I cannot begin to imagine," or "I sympathize."

The words, "I understand" should not be spoken unless you have walked the same path. We were guilty of comparing griefs. Griefs do not compare... they are relative to the individuals suffering them.

All of this to say that the enemy finds weaknesses in us during times of struggle, suffering, or grief. We must work hard to be available for those God puts in our path, but must be careful of word choice.

Individually, we must also guard against bitterness. It is a playground for the enemy, and comes with all shades of rage and emotion. It may be dumped on unsuspecting well-wishers, without warning.

We do not wish it that way, it tends to be the result of lack of opportunity to clarify ones feelings as needed.

Deanna and I never erupted (that I can remember) on others as we were afforded opportunities to discuss these kinds of things.

Sometimes, people just need to talk without us offering our two cents. They don't want advice. They aren't seeking input. They just need a listening ear.

I think we can all do that. In so doing, we should arm ourselves with the words, "I am so sorry," or "I cannot imagine," over "I understand."

Though the intent is good, the reality often is, we don't.


Have a blessed week!

dad