It’s almost two in the morning, and I’m sitting on a porch in upstate New York. A couple electric fans are shifting the cool air around and stifling the silence of the sleeping house, but otherwise, everything remains motionless – even the animals have quieted for the night.

Basking in this stillness, I feel closer to God than I have in weeks, even months. Maybe it’s the quiet, maybe it’s freedom to let my mind wander between prayer and dreaming, or maybe God prepared my heart tonight for His muted voice. But looking into the ink black of the sky, I am starting to understand what I’ve been struggling to grasp lately.

Just because some of God’s promises are hidden from sight, doesn’t mean that they have disappeared. In the midst of the darkness, light burns. It might flicker and fade – but with God, light burns and hope swells. Hope abounds even when we can’t see it.

My God is intentional and purposeful. Leaning over the edge of the porch and craning my neck towards the sky, I can see countless stars burning for miles in every direction. Each is intricately placed across the sky – some in separate galaxies, light years away from each other. Some stars are visible to the naked eye, but millions more lie cloaked in the mysterious folds of the universe.

There’s beauty in these folds of mystery throughout life, beauty in both the seen and the unseen, and that’s something I’ve been overlooking. It’s easy to sit on a porch and fix my eyes on the stars ensconced from the heavens. I may not be able to touch them or feel their light, but their visibility makes them tangible to me. The difficulty lies in imagining those stars that hide beyond my line of vision. The difficulty lies in choosing to hope, choosing to believe, choosing to recognize that God is good even if I can’t always understand Him. But it’s a choice that I have peace making because I know that my God keeps His promises, both seen and unseen. There’s beauty in the struggle to rest in the unseen because surrender is at the center of it.

This weekend I felt as if I was reading Isaiah 40 for the first time. So many of those verses speak of God’s comfort to His people, while exalting him as eternal, infinite and almighty. Take this verse as an example:

“He will feed his flock like a shepherd. He will carry the lambs in his arms, holding them close to his heart. He will gently lead the mother sheep with their young.”
Isaiah 40:11

He carries His lambs close to His heart, and He keeps his promises. It took me a trip through two border crossings and some back roads to realize this again. God is good. I am choosing to hope.

GENRE: EVANGELISM
PUBLISHER: ZONDERVAN
PUBLICATION DATE: MARCH 2008

Dan Kimball has a written a stunner with They Like Jesus But Not The Church: Insights From Emerging Generations. I have to be honest, though. I was really skeptical when I picked up the title. When you’re in this job, you read a lot of similar titles and learn very little. It’s a sad reality, unfortunately. And there seems to be no end to books on the shelves written by Christians trying to understand the mind of the unbeliever, Christians dialoguing with unbelievers, Christians apologizing to unbelievers, and the list goes on. However, Kimball differentiates himself from the others by actually capturing the voice of people who don’t believe in Jesus as their savior. Rather than presenting the (often) fallacious arguments and belligerent attitudes of skeptics, Kimball presents here the hearts and minds of those who have deep-seated questions and doubts about the Church as an organized religion.

The first section of the book reads like many other titles like this and isn’t exactly all that impressive. Thankfully, the book is written in such a way that it’s not important that the reader have read Part I of book before moving on to Part II. However, if you’d like to know the gist, it acts as a journal of sorts for Kimball as he realizes certain unalterable facts about the world Christians have built around themselves to insulate themselves from those on “the outside.”

However, it is Part II where things really pick up. It is in this section that Kimball spends time addressing several misconceptions nonbelievers have about the church, such as “The Church Is An Organized Religion With A Political Agenda” or “The Church Is Dominated By Males And Oppresses Female.” And while this portion of the title has a certain apologetic bent to it, Kimball relies heavily on the actual words of nonbelievers to craft his arguments. Instead of assuming what nonbelievers will say or that all their arguments are the same or that they are all stupid or that they are all hopelessly lost, Kimball uses as sweeping examples engagements he has had with actual people.

Part III of the book is where Kimball gives a response to Christianity’s critics, the harsh ones and the ones who simply are parroting what they’re heard others say, but have not graced the doors of a church. Page 234-235’s re-imagining of the classic “Bridge Illustration” that adds a second chasm of “Christianity and the Christian sub-culture” between man and God is of particular note and needs serious reflection.

The difficulty with a book like this is that, even though it is relational, lifestyle, emerging evangelism, it is still evangelism. There is still an endgame. At the end, even though we acknowledge that the people that we talk to about the faith have “real concerns” and aren’t just a bunch of morons (as many fundamentalists would have us believe), there is still the hope in the back of our mind that we will guide people to Jesus. As a person with a decidedly evangelical background, this isn’t a fault in lifestyle of course. Rather, when a book takes a laissez-faire, backdoor approach to Great Commission, I feel as if it is not being as genuine as it claims it wants to be. If the point is to come across as if there is no end game on the part of believers when we have an end game, we’re actually lying and, in a sense, showing a fair bit of shame in Jesus. And while I know that this approach is in response to the damage that years of fundamentalist ideology has presented Jesus and Christianity and grace as nothing more that a set propositions to believe, there is a distinct difference between shedding a label and shedding a name. While much of what Kimball says undoubtedly comes from a “shedding a label” heart, it many times feels like They Like Jesus But Not The Church is throwing out the baby and the bathwater.

Also, I recently read a book called The Unlikely Disciple: A Sinner’s Semester at America’s Holiest University by Kevin Roose. In his volume, Roose admits that, while he held views about Christians (evangelicals in particular), he didn’t actually know any. And if recent research done by the Barna Research Group is accurate, then a great deal of people in America are just like Roose. They don’t know any Christians to truly speak ill of—not on a personal level anyway. Thus, when I try to consider what Kimball is saying, take it to heart, and breath life into it in my own context, it gives me pause. Have the people with whom Kimball has talked to shown any more sincerity than we are showing them by [initially] appearing to not be Christian at all? Are we couching our approach in such a way that somewhat denies our passion for Christ because we’ve been lied to? I’m not saying this is the case. I simply think it is something that ought to be taken into consideration.

Despite my misgivings about the approach this title takes at times, I think Dan Kimball has done Christians a service by providing them with a volume that honestly try to look for a way to answer the postmodern objections that are the order of the day. An Evidence That Demands a Verdict approach is not working anymore. Many people are not looking for tangible, empirical “proofs” of the faith like they were 20-30 years ago. Most data bears out this fact. But, the data shows that they are no less spiritually hungry. It is this hunger that Kimball speaks to in an open and honest manner. I recommend that pastors and laypersons trying to figure out why the old ways aren’t working pick up They Like Jesus But Not The Church.

At times I fall and skin my knees—this epidemic, my disease
It’s buried deeper in my veins
It gathers on the window pains; like rain, of which I can’t escape
It drowns me in its frigid wake
Oh, why in daylight must I fall?
When darkness brings to you my all
The things I could and should have done
Eclipsed by sin—the sin that won
I love you, God, but to let it show is the hardest act my heart could know
It takes the death of who I am
Defines the core of a righteous man
So I confess again, with pen
For everything I could have been
The how and why, for every when
I’ll follow you until the end

Beautiful One,

This morning as I sat down to pray, I looked back to the beginning of my FORTY journal. Every prayer request that I wrote down at the beginning of these last forty days has been answered, at least in part! Thank You for being a God who doesn’t change - yesterday, today or tomorrow.

Thank You for loving me.

Thank You for giving me a plan and a purpose.

Reign in me. Let people only see You when they look at me.

Thank You for showing me Your glory!

Written in the journal from the Prayer Room during 40.

This morning I watch as hunger and poverty are pushed backward with each can of food and pair of shoes that is placed in the hands of someone who needs it.

A group of volunteers has been preparing for this stream of people for days. Some have spent hours sorting through mounds of clothes that nearly touch the ceiling. Others have stocked the shopping room. Still others have strained their backs lifting and moving boxes of food that are ready to be distributed.

These volunteers have become family to each other, checking up on each other and taking care of each other.

Last night I watched as a young family arrived to volunteer with their toddler-aged son. As volunteers arrive to work, Lisa takes time to catch up with each one. While she is chatting with the husband, a slender teenage girl with long blonde hair runs up to greet the little boy.

“Are you done?” Lisa asks her, referring to a task the girl was given when she first arrived.

“I’m so close to done, it’s not even funny,” the girl, Rachel, replies. She does what I assume must be a trendy arm move, which Lisa returns while laughing and telling her to get back and actually finish the job.

A few moments later, Lisa soon heads back to the warehouse, and I follow close on her heels. Once there, she is stopped by a volunteer that we left sorting shoes. She holds up a baby boy’s shoe.

“If it’s a shoe like this, do I need to write that it’s a ‘baby size 3’ or will they just know it’s a baby size 3?” she asks.

Lisa answers this question as she’s answered countless others before, and will likely answer countless others after. In fact, the questions directed at Lisa never seem to end.

“She’s the person everyone goes to when they have questions,” Debi, Rachel’s mom tells me. “She’s amazing. She is very organized, and she’s always working to tweak things and make them run better.”

Debi and Rachel have been working at God’s Helping Hands for five years. They make up part of the family that the volunteers have become. In fact, I think the volunteers at God’s Helping Hands are more of a family than I’ve ever seen in a volunteer organization. They take care of each other, and they know what is going on in each other’s lives. They laugh and cry together.

As we stand chatting with Debi, Lisa’s eyes grow misty when she explains to me that she’s lost two children. The anniversary of one of her son’s deaths is approaching, and Debi reminds her that she is always available if Lisa needs a distraction in the coming weeks.

“We should find a matinee showing of a funny movie,” Debi says. Before we head back to the warehouse, she shakes my hand and gives Lisa a heartwarming hug.

I receive more handshakes the next morning when I return to witness God’s Helping Hands in action. I arrive about 15 minutes early, and the silence in the warehouse reminds me of the calm before a storm.

I am not sure exactly what I expected to see when I watched the first wave of people stream into the waiting room. To be honest, I think I expected tired people, angry they were in a situation that made it necessary for them to come ask for help.

The things I saw put my expectations to shame.

I saw people who smiled. I learned that smiles went a long way—much farther than words ever could. Children smiled at me from behind their mother’s knees and adults smiled at me as I scurried back and forth through the waiting room, delivering food orders to the pantry.

I saw people who were filled with joy. The phone in the lobby rang off the hook all day, but over its ringing I could hear a young girl outside in line, singing just to pass the time. I watched as an elderly couple walked in. The wife wore a faded denim shirt, and her silver hair was pulled back in a barrette. What I remember most were her eyes. They sparkled.

But most of all, I saw a family of people who hardly knew each other. I heard them listen to each other’s stories and watched them amuse each other’s kids. I watched them give up their seats for each other and make sure everyone was taken care of and received the food they needed.

I watched the volunteers and those in need interact with dignity and respect. There was no shame in being in a situation where it was necessary for people to lean on each other and help each other.

I saw the people of God quietly fulfilling God’s word in Matthew 25: “For I was hungry, and you fed me. I was thirsty and you gave me a drink. I was naked, and you gave me clothing.”

___________________________________________________

God’s Helping Hands can always (always!) use volunteers who are willing to serve. Lisa can’t guarantee exactly what they will work on, but when they arrive each group will be put to work doing whatever needs to be done.

Brian and Lisa are very flexible with the hours that volunteers come serve. Often, the times that groups are available are outside the normal re-stocking hours, but Lisa pointed out that as long as she and her husband are free, they’d do whatever they can to accommodate the schedules of volunteers.

“We have a lot of great, hard working groups from Woodside,” Lisa told me. “We haven’t had any in about a month—I’m missing them!”

I stood against the sky-blue wall of the small lobby in my faded jeans and work T-shirt and watched the digital clock above the doorway snap to 10:00 a.m. Michelle moved from behind her desk to unlock the two doors leading to the outside of the building.

Almost immediately, a line of people streamed past, dropping their ID cards into a small box and moving to sit down in the waiting room. Within three minutes, the waiting room was full. A line of those who couldn’t fit in the waiting room stretched through the lobby, out the door, and around the building.

There were an assortment of people present—single men who looked as though a shower wouldn’t hurt, single mothers carrying a young children on their hips, families with several children, even a young business man carrying a briefcase—and though from first glance they seemed to have nothing in common, they were all there for the same reason.

They needed food.

The night before, I had dressed neatly, selected a notebook and several pens, and printed directions from Mapquest to a place called God’s Helping Hands. I had little idea of what to expect. Once I saw God’s Helping Hands in action, I had even less of an idea of how to write about what I’d seen.

This organization was founded by Brian and Lisa Cain in 1998. Brian and Lisa’s second son, Kevin, was diagnosed with many health problems soon after his birth. Tragically, he passed away after seven and a half short years of life. During his long illness, the Cains struggled to find the money to feed and clothe their family. They did not qualify for aid through many social service agencies, and it was because of the help and support of their church family that they were able to make it through.

They decided to start an organization that would help feed and clothe anyone who walked through its doors.

“People go through things in life, and you may not qualify for anything,” Lisa says. “That’s what we were up against.”

So, God’s Helping Hands was born with the goal to end hunger and poverty in southeast Michigan.

Read more about Emilie’s experience tomorrow in Part 2 of her blog!

There was this time that I saw something amazing.

20,000 people packed into an arena. There wasn’t an empty seat, and everyone was cheering, celebrating. But no sporting event had been played that night. There hadn’t been a concert. Everyone was cheering for God - praising Him for who He is and thanking Him for the wonderful deeds that He had accomplished, and we had witnessed.

God, why don’t we cheer for You more often? Why do we celebrate the meaningless things accomplished by men?

“Arise, O Lord! Let not man prevail;
Let the nations be judged before You!
Put them in fear, O Lord!
Let the nations know that they are but men!”
Psalm 9:19-20

Written in the journal from the Prayer Room during 40.

The summer wind swiftly sweeps through our town,

Where together we’ll capture every precious sight and sound.

I’m sure the day will shine bright, and the night will turn dark,

But I’m certain I’ll always feel alive because you hold my heart.

You whispered you were a dreamer, and I whispered back, ” I am too”

Then we made a promise to chase all of our dreams until the day they came true.

You held out your hand, and I held out mine,

“Let’s gaze up at the stars from the tallest mountain,” we said, and there we began to climb.

When we reach the top, we’ll shout and dance and rejoice and scream,

Because together, hand in hand, we chased one of our million dreams.

Alas, my eyes focus at the moonlit sky and words spill from my chest: “stars, so beautiful, wondrous, and full of light”

And as tears fall down my face, I’m taken back to those first few seconds you stepped in to my life.

Kneeling at God’s throne above,
My tears are streaming down with love
Asking God “what have I done?”
Pleading mercy from the Son

Why do I fall, O God on high?
Do you hear my desperate cry?
Patiently I wait for You,
Ready, willing, make me new

Time and time I fall down,
Heavy shadows on the ground
Stumbling as I try to stand,
Reaching up for Christ’s hand

Why do I fall, O God on high?
Do you hear my desperate cry?
Patiently I wait for You,
Ready, willing, make me new

Grasping tightly I stand up,
Quenching thirst from the cup
Loving Father be my guide,
Strike and crush all my pride

Why do I fall, O God on high?
Do you hear my desperate cry?
Patiently I wait for You,
Ready, willing, make me new

Holy Spirit, Faithful One,
Quickly to you I will run
As storms arise all around,
In your arms may I be found

Why do I fall, O God on high?
Do you hear my desperate cry?
Patiently I wait for You,
Ready, willing, make me new
Ready, willing, make me new

Like many little girls I know, when I was younger I dreamed of owning my own horse. For years I faithfully saved my allowance, birthday money, Christmas money, and any other money that happened to come my way in hopes of one day having enough to buy my dream horse. I even had some friends that supported my “horse fund” and would bring me their change to add to my growing pile of savings.

Finally, just before my 13th birthday, the time was right. A friend of mine knew of a 13-year old Arab mare that was being sold nearby, and together we went to look at her. She was perfect. Within a few weeks, I had traded my savings for my dream, and I was riding her home.

She and I have shared seven special years together. This year we’re both turning 20, which still amazes me. We took lessons together, learned together, and grew together.

For a long time, I thought that I would always have her. I never anticipated my dream changing or my life going in a different direction. However, when I purchased her, my family had just returned from a year-long mission trip, and I knew that if God called us away again, I would have to be willing to give her up. Even though my family has not been involved in any more long-term mission trips since then, the knowledge that we would go wherever God called taught me to hold her with open hands.

Since the beginning of this year, I have felt God beginning to move and shape me, chipping off the rough edges and preparing me for something. I’m still not exactly sure what it is, but I am reasonably sure it means I’ll be going somewhere else. Having traveled quite a bit, leaving “stuff” behind has never really bothered me, but the thought of selling my horse was one I wrestled with for a long time.

I didn’t want to. At all.

However, over this past semester, it became clear to me that finding her a new home would also be in her best interest. Once school is in session, I am gone almost every day. While I do have time to take care of her, I haven’t been able to really spend time with her or ride in a long time. Hard as it was to make the decision to sell her, I want her to have a home where she gets a lot of attention and love.

So, I began to pray that God would send along the right family for her. I prayed that I could find an equine therapy facility where she would be ridden and groomed and loved on a daily basis. I prayed, but I did nothing. And what do you know… nothing happened.

Today it finally hit me that the summer is already half over, and I’ve still essentially done nothing to actually start the process of selling her. So, I sat down to write an ad for the newspaper, and I did research to look for equine therapy facilities in the area. When I had a list of those, I emailed 11 of them, asking if they needed a horse. It was one of the hardest things I’ve done.

I realized that I had actually begun taking the steps to put myself in a position where God can use me wherever He wants. Understanding that He has called me is not enough. Just because I feel His call does not mean that things are going to magically going fall into place for me to go wherever He wants. It is also up to me to be faithful and obedient and line myself up to be able to go where He directs. At times that process is easy, and at times it is more difficult. Sometimes it might be sad. Sometimes it might hurt. But if I can’t prepare myself to obey His call now, simply in the preparation, how will I ever be able to follow Him later?

In the evening, I went to put my mare in her stall for the night. It was still and quiet and the sun was setting, so I just sat in the grass for a while and watched her graze. There were still tears pricking at the back of my eyes, but I felt an overwhelming sense of peace. I’ve begun taking the steps I need to take, and I trust God will take care of the details.