Happy New Year? Oh Me of Little Faith!

The ball has dropped, the children packed off to bed; almost three hours have passed since we rang in the new year of 2010. And I've been sitting here, mindlessly watching television, playing computer games -- anything to avoid feeling.

This year has not been the best year in certain ways. I know. I said that last year. At this time frame last year, I was having constant panic attacks following the discovery of that friend who committed suicide. I know -- you must get tired of seeing that in writing. I know I must talk about death alot; when you see it up close -- and you don't want to see it up close -- it does something to a person. You realize that life can change in single heartbeat. Life is as fragile as a butterfly's wings.

It was the year of my high school reunion. I enjoyed that night more than I ever imagined. It made me realize how quickly this life of mine is flying by. What am I doing to improve the world around me? What have I contributed to it? One of my friends teaches special ed. She is changing lives daily in such a positive and powerful way.

I've had problems with my eldest born son that I never dreamed our family would ever face. He is somewhere else at the moment, getting help for his problems, and I miss him so badly, my chest cannot bear the weight of it at times. I see on Facebook where his friends are enjoying youth group, birthday parties, dances, and even though I am joyful for them, my heart mourns my son's choices that took him where he is. I could blame his father's influence for the reason why my son has done the things he's done. Even though what my ex-husband has done in this young teen's life has been wrong, my son made the decisions he did. His biological father was not in the room when my son did what he did; if I would have been in the room, he certainly would not have done what he did which landed him where he is right now. Sometimes it has been all I could do to get out of bed. It was a monstrous feat that got the Christmas tree up this year.

I miss my son. I miss him horribly. I know he's getting help, but I still worry about him. What will stop him from repeating the behavior which got him into trouble? Will people accept him? Can his step-father, the rest of the family, and I truly know that we honestly forgive him and trust him again?

To top all of that off, the day before my son was taken away to one place, my father had an aneurysm burst in his abdominal region. We were told that 97 % of those who have one burst, die before they get to the hospital, and half of those who make it to the hospital die from complications from the surgery. Things were touch and go. He's battled infections, a discovery of colon cancer, all with a very weak heart to still tell me on the phone that he's going to walk again and make it home; my dad is one heck of a fighter! He's still with us; better yet, he's given his heart to Jesus.

It has been a heart-wrenching journey, coming to grips with the possibility that you may have to say "goodbye" to your father, and soon. Growing up, my father possessed a LOT of faults; but I adored my father in spite of -- and maybe because of -- his many foibles. I always knew a call would come, telling me some bad news of my father; I never expected it would hit me this hard. I have talked to my Heavenly Father many a night regarding my earthly Dad.

Then I berate myself. Oh, me of little faith! Why am I worrying about everything so badly? Where is my undying faith in my Lord and Savior? Why do I stay awake so late, crying out to God to hear my prayer, when I should be sleeping safe in the arms of Jesus? My favorite disciple is Peter; he was able to sleep in prison, facing death, itself. No worries, mate. I used to emulate him more. I don't know who I'm like at the moment. I'm angry with myself for letting little grains of fear fester in the crevices of my mind. I did not know what fear was at one time; as long as I knew Christ was before me, who could be against me? Then I get the gentle nudging that I am not alone. Others have walked the path I am walking, and I need to know that my Abba Father loves me in spite of me.

What good has happened this year? Well, I reconnected with old friends and made new ones with the help of Facebook. These friends and family members have bolstered me up in so many ways, through encouragement, cyber hugs, prayers, and their love. My step-sons have become my friends on Facebook. I cried tears of joy -- seriously -- when they became my friends. If you would know what my husband and I have endured for nine years, then you'd understand. We never stopped loving them, not one minute. And God is paving the road. We need to be more patient until God completes every bit of His work in this endeavor.

It's almost like giving birth -- I want the good things to happen now. However, we have to push through the labor pains. Joy may come in the morning, but you have to endure the darkness of night to see the beauty of the sunrise.

So I look at the fractured pieces of this year, and I will ask God to help turn those shards of glass into a stained-glass window to the shine beauty into my soul. Help my life be a thing of beauty for You, O Lord, to show the world how you take the lowliest of the low and transform them into a thing of beauty. Who else but God can take an insect that looks like it's little more than a worm and metamorphose that creature into a glorious, colorful winged delight? May You turn me, the worm that I am, into that iridescent, velvet-winged butterfly. Help me to be more like You, Lord Jesus, and less like me in this year, and the years to come!

I'm just sooo perfect... uh, don't stand close to me or the lightning will strike!

I signed up my children to participate in 4-H. It's a good program, with good people in it. Fortunately, the leaders have been in 4-H since they were children, themselves. I am hoping the children meet new friends and learn new things.

Last month, a demonstration about how to give a demonstration was held. It was alright. Afterwards, the leader asked for volunteers to give a demonstration of their own. My boy said, "I'm not gonna do it." I walked over and signed him up, along with his sister, to do a demonstration for the very next meeting.

Cruel, I know. After the initial screeches of "What'll we talk about?!" were heard by me, I said, "We'll figure it out. It'll be fine, you'll see."

We sat and thought about what they could do, when we decided upon creating Christmas ornaments. That's an easy enough demonstration, as that is a craft we take on almost every year for Christmas. Our tree is nothing but home made ornaments, lovingly crafted by my Gram, my children, and me. We bought the wood, we planned out what they were going to say, and we put together the poster boards. Everything seemed to be perfect.

We went to 4-H, sure that everything would go as planned.

We sat through a very informative and interesting demonstration. Then it was the children's turn. Maybe I had the items set up in the wrong place, maybe I should have had index cards for the children. It all started out wonderfully. I did notice that we should have written larger on the poster board, but that was okay, the children were doing great. Then it happened. Whatever happened, I'm unsure, but it appears as though one of the children went out of turn. Then the other went out of turn. The next thing I knew, one of the children started doing ALL of the talking, and the other got very frustrated and started crying. Not only that, but the crying demonstrator tried to rip ribbon out of the time-hog demonstrator's hands. The time-hog did NOT budge. As an observer, I could only stand there, hoping and praying to God that it would all end soon.

Why is it that parents always feel an obligation to think that the actions of their children in a situation such as this is an excuse to label themselves as "bad parents who had to have done SOMETHING wrong?" Because that's what I did. The children did not have a perfect demonstration, so I decided to blame myself.

As I sat later contemplating all of this in front of a game of Bejeweled -- the game I always seem to gravitate to when I want to do "veg-out", a certain memory or two flooded my tired mind.

Sixth-grade Sunday school class, 1977 or 1978. We were all given Bible verses to memorize for something going on in the church. I was given a very long Bible verse. I think I actually volunteered myself to take on that long verse. I worked hard at memorizing that verse. I wrote it out, said it to myself, as well as my family members. We finally had a practice session right before we were marched into the sanctuary. I said it PERFECTLY. I was so puffed up about it, I could not WAIT to say that verse, and make everyone so proud of me and my abilities!

We all walked single file into the sanctuary. All of my fellow classmates said their verses perfectly. They were great. Then, me having the longest verse, the "piece-de-resistance", I opened my mouth to say my verse. I looked around the sanctuary. There were TONS of PEOPLE! And there, three-quarters of the way up the church, sat my mother. My mother, with a proud smile plastered across her lips. And then, as if in the movies, it seemed as though my mother's face was transported mysteriously into a close-up! Oh, my GOODNESS -- I could NOT let HER down! I HAD to get it right, I just HAD to!

Every single word of that verse FLEW straight out of my brain! I stammered, I stuttered and flustered. I felt like crying and running to the bathroom, all at the same time. Everyone in the class was disappointed. The teacher was very disappointed. My mother was extremely disappointed. But no one was more disappointed in me, than me.

That tended to be my "mode of operandi" when it came for me to do something in front of a large group of people. During practices, I'd SHINE. But to then perform in front of a group of people would cause me to forget lines, to say something out of line that was not in the script, to throw a Frisbee at sixth grade field day in such a way that it would not soar gracefully, but would rather hit the ground and roll.

I've tried so hard all of my life to be PERFECT. And you know, it just doesn't work. I'm NOT perfect. And thank God, neither are my children. I think the Lord allows me to fall flat on my face to keep me honest, so that I don't puff up and say, "Oh, look at ME!" It would be so very easy for me to do that. I need to be pleased with my children and love them -- no matter if they get a blue ribbon in something, or if they fall flat on their faces. It's the times when you fall flat on your face that you truly learn.

The question is, will you let your times when you fall flat on your face to be a time to get up, dust yourself off, look at what happened, and learn from that experience, or will you sit in a corner and be afraid to never try again unless you're perfect coming out of the shoot?

Lord, help teach me to find joy in my imperfection, and help me teach my children find the joy in their imperfection, for You are made perfect in my weakness, and we learn to rely upon You as our source and strength!

Stormy Silence

On this blog, I've been quiet lately... too quiet. Usually, I pour out my thoughts and connect those thoughts to God. But if I would share what has been in my heart, life and mind these past months, it would be the equivalent of one of those bad nightmares where you're standing out in public and you suddenly realize you're standing there in your underwear. What -- you've never had a dream like that? Well, I have... I didn't want to write my hurts and such for an unknown world to realize later that I've let it all out to the detriment of society. Trust me, you do NOT want to experience all of this!

Since the middle of August, though, my world has been in a tumult. I've asked for prayer on Face book without being overly specific. I cannot be all that specific even now, as there are other people involved who could be hurt if I go spouting off about myself and these problems.

I keep trying to find joy in the pain. I keep trying to count the blessings in all that has occurred in the midst of it all, and to be honest, I've found quite a few. It really is true that God is good, all the time/ all the time, God is good.

I find joy in praise songs, or songs that I haven't heard in years. Hymns have spoken to me. Such as "Jesus Calls Us, O'er the Tumult," and "It is Well, With My Soul." Reading those small books with titles such as, "What Does the Bible Say When You're Feeling...." also helps me. Knowing that my loved ones and friends are praying for my family and myself -- even when they don't know the entire situation -- is such a blessing.

I grew up in a world where we had a lot of secrets. Since then, I've tried to be a very open book. I've found that many people can't handle that truth I tell about myself. I keep other people's secrets wrapped up nice and tight -- it's my life that is usually out there for all to see. Why? Well, I've known what it's like to live in a secret-filled environment, where you tell no one about yourself. You keep it all hid, make no real close friends, etc. What a lonely existence. Who gets helped by secrets? No one. If there is SOMETHING from my life that can help just ONE person to see that Jesus can touch ANY ONE'S life and give hope, then it's more than worth it.

I'm not giving up on the One who touches the untouchable, the One who reaches the unreachable, the One who consoles the inconsolable, the One who loves the unlovable. He has not given up on me.

My silence these past months in the blogging sphere has not been silent in my soul. It's pressing into the One who can dry my tears, sings to my spirit, and holds me close in the midst of the storms of life. I've needed to rest in Him. To hear His voice. I'll start writing again. I've just needed to ride out these storms that have hammered and blown at the foundations of my being. I'm so very thankful that my house is built upon the firm foundation -- the rock and the anchor -- of Christ Jesus. Otherwise, I really don't know what I would have done these past months.

All I can say is, "Thank You, Lord, for being my refuge, my strength and a very present help in times of trouble... You lift my head and I love You with ALL of my being!"

Reunion

It's funny, what twenty-five years can do in the life of a person. I'm not talking about physical changes; it's the human condition in its fullness that a person will change in his or her appearance. No, I'm talking about the changes that occur deep in the heart.

You see, this weekend I went to a place I vowed I would never go unless I was rich, famous and looked absolutely fabulous: my high school class reunion. In my immature, teenage mind, I viewed high school as another place of torture in that sad episode entitled, "My life." Let's just say, in my mind, I didn't fit in anywhere. I wasn't an athletic girl, as my knees were not strong. I didn't do drugs or drink, because I knew my mom would kill me if the drugs wouldn't, and I didn't want to end up like Janis Joplin, Jimi Hendrix, or like a dear, sweet, older girl I knew named Peggy. I wasn't in band or chorus, because I goofed off too much in 7th grade chorus and wasn't asked back; my mother said that I made my bed, I had to lay in it. I was not allowed to ask the Chorus director to let me back in. I was smart, but not the smartest kid in class. I was not the prettiest girl in class -- in fact, one kid came up to me and said, "Hey, Becky -- you're pretty...pretty d--- ugly." I already knew that because my mother told me often, "Oh, you poor thing, you look just like your ugly mother." I had greasy hair and wore dark clothes, but it was not because I was a "goth". I actually loved Jesus -- I just didn't think He could love me. And besides, there were issues with the house that I've talked about before; it made it hard to wash one's hair every day like a young girl would have wanted.

I hid behind a goofy mask that made it seem as though nothing or no one bothered me. But certain comments and actions hurt. They hurt badly. There were times I'd tell the teacher I had a headache, and then would rush to the nurse's office to sob. She always let me cry things out. I couldn't tell her about home, I couldn't tell her about school, but she always gave me a safe place to cry and cry until I could "get it together," and face the world again. I found release in dancing (no formal dance lessons -- couldn't afford it), art (even though my sister was the artist of the family), and music (no, no chorus, but I played tons of records and sang along with them); that's where I could be me, and totally express who I felt I was.

As many teenagers do, they don't look at the positive aspects going on in their lives; they brand themselves with the negative, wearing those negative occurrences as badges that say, "Look what I have to suffer. My life is a mess" But the saddest thing is, they don't share that hurt with anyone who can actually help. They've learned not to trust anything or anyone. The enemy is a master at convincing teenagers that they aren't special in God's eyes, and that the junk which is going on in their lives will never end. I hate the devil for that -- because he still uses his same ploys to try to convince those former teenagers when they become adults that they are less than what God has called them to be.

I wore that badge for too many years. I wore other badges, too. I wore other masks; masks that hid my emotions, my sins, my fears. With the suicide of my friend in October, and the PTSD which resulted after that, I've had to really look back. Go to places where I did not want to go. I'm having to rip off some of the badges and toss them in the garbage. I'm tired of holding onto past hurts -- real or imagined. I've been taking a hard look at myself, and starting to embrace all of the parts of me -- the sad and lonely little girl, the quiet and introspective person, the caring, yet funny woman, as well as the super-boisterous, outgoing gal. It's a hard journey, because in all reality, I don't always like the loud, wise-cracking girl. That part of my personality annoys me, many times, to be honest. But I'm slowly learning that God has helped form in me the personality that I have, to be the person that He needs me to be to touch those who like my type of personality -- I just keep asking Him to help me tone it down.

Case in point: at the reunion, I wanted to walk in, a self-assured, even-tempered woman. But, no -- I saw some of my old friends and SQUEALED. How many people were attack-hugged by me? I cannot honestly say. But you know, it was so GOOD to see these people. Even those who had previously made fun of me. To my surprise and honor, I was asked to say the blessing over the meal. I looked at the class and realized that, contrary to what my teenage mind thought, there were some really sweet people who actually had liked me and wanted nice things for me -- even some of the popular kids. Those adults sitting in the seats, awaiting the blessing had been young and grew up, too. They had their own issues, their own insecurities and expressed themselves the only way they knew how a that point of time in their lives when we were all young.

Yes, I was goofy at the reunion and sang the Alma Mater for ten bucks, but I had fun doing it. It was a joyful time for me. No, I was not rich or famous, nor was I the ravishing beauty that I was planning to be if I ever returned; but I am very blessed with a loving husband, awesome children, great friends, and a beautiful Savior who gave me something much more lasting than riches and fame. I know who I am in Christ; a person loved and adored by the King of Kings, in spite of what I ever did in my life -- and I've done a lot, both good and horrible. I was wishing I could have spent some more time with some of my old friends, and talked a little more, but there was so little time to be had at the reunion.

Afterwards, I was suddenly struck with silly, stupid fears -- what if I made a complete fool of myself, squealing with glee, singing the Alma Mater, doing some karaoke, going all over the place, hugging lots of people. But you know, so many old issues were buried for me; I wish I could tell that teenage me that I needed to look more at the positive and less negative. To see some friends I was sure I'd never see again brought tears to my eyes. But as I look back -- and forward -- I can understand how Romans 8:28 fully comes into play through the tragic, comic, and everything in between: "And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose." All things -- good and bad -- have helped shape me into the person that God wants me to be today. Through it all, I'm happy in Him; God still loves me -- all of me --and that's good enough.

Good that comes out of the Bad

August first, 2000 is a day that will be forever etched into my memory. It was the very worst day and the best day of Tim's and my life together.

It was a sunny day, and Tim wanted to play hooky from work to take our children (his, mine and ours) to the beach. However, they needed him, so he quickly kissed me "bye" and away he went.

I told the boys to ride their bikes; the chain eventually fell off of my younger step-son's bike, and I fixed it. There was grease on my hands, so I went upstairs to wash them, hoisting my toddler to take him upstairs to our apartment with me. He started throwing a fit, as toddlers do when they wish to be held, and I had to yell over his shrieks, "I'll hold you as soon as my hands are washed, baby!"

Suddenly, a knock on the door. "I didn't know I was making that much racket," I thought. I opened the door, to see a policeman and another gentleman standing in the hallway. "Holy, moley - I didn't know I was THAT loud --and boy, they come fast!" I remember thinking.

"Ma'am, are you Mrs. Rebecca J..?"

"Yes." ("Oh, no, something's happened to either "M----" - [my ex], or to "P---" [Tim's ex] - how am I ever going to tell them?" flashed in my head)

"We're sorry, but your husband, Timothy has been involved in a vehicular accident...."

Swirling in the head,,, all I could say was, "NoNoNoNoNo...." I didn't know what to think, it had to be a horrendous dream. I had to wake up any minute!

Suddenly the gentleman spoke up; it was Tim's boss' son: "Becky - wait - he's okay! The car can't be driven, but he's only broken a few bones! I'll drive you and the children."

OH, a few broken bones! I had plenty of those! I'd be taking my hubby home, and we'd have a laugh about how he'd gotten his first bike and first broken bones in the same year. I had to gain complete composure and not worry the children. I remembered reading about mothers in World War Two who reacted with fear in front of their children tended to raise children afraid of everything. I was going to be as calm as possible, although my stomach was turning flip-flops -- and not from the new life that was growing inside of me at that time.

I told the children that Daddy was in an accident, but that all would be well, and we'd have him home in no time. When we all arrived at the hospital, however, I heard a different story. I was not sure if he was going to make it through the night, if he had internal injuries, if he was going to walk again... there were so many if's. The only thing I could do was pray.

I tried to call my in-laws and only got my sister-in-law. She showed up at the hospital. I asked for the church to pray. Finally we were told we could go to the ICU waiting room. I don't remember what happened with my sister-in-law; I do know that I relied upon her quite a bit when the accident first occurred. Finally I was able to see my husband briefly. The children were too young to go see their dad, so they sat with a nun at the hospital and watched television.

Before making my way to his room, I could hear him... moans... horrid moans. I put my hand over my mouth, shut my eyes tightly and vowed I would NOT be anything but positive for him in that room. I asked God for inner strength. I bounced into the room and stopped.

He was hooked up to all sorts of stuff. The nurses told him, "Mr. J, your wife's here." He stopped moaning, but instead made a horrid sucking in of the air sound that was akin to what your mouth does when you're freezing cold. He was nothing but shiny blood all over his face. His eye had a sewn up gash over it, his mouth had stitches, there was glass still in his hair. I found the one place on his face that didn't look like it would hurt as much if I kissed that spot, and I kissed him.

"I must look like Frankenstein; how can you ever love me looking like this?" he groaned.

"I didn't marry your face, I married YOU," I replied. "Besides, I think you're still gorgeous!"

"How am I going to take care of all of you - the boys, too?" He was worried about us more than himself.

"Don't worry - God will take care of us -- it'll be fine. Now, get some rest - I'll be right outside. I love you, love you, love you."

No sooner did I walk out of the room, he started moaning in horrendous pain again. I leaned against the wall, somewhere between his room and where the children were awaiting me in the waiting room, slid to the floor, and sobbed. I knew I had to be strong, but was I strong enough?

Someone helped me up and embraced me. I used the pay phone and called the boys' uncle. I knew that I would be going to the hospital to see my husband as often as I could, to make sure he was going to be okay; I knew that at that time, we also needed to look out for all of the children, and so I asked their uncle to call the children's mother and let her know what happened.

What happened was, Tim was travelling along the road, when a car in the other lane unsafely passed a mail truck and hit my husband head-on. Even though Tim was wearing a seat belt, his head still hit the window, bounced back and hit the side window. The force of the collision caused his hip joint to shatter his hip bone, a compound fracture and fractured ankle on the other, and a few other problems to be dealt with. We found out later that he had to be revived three times on his way to the hospital.

Tim spent 28 days in the hospital; I didn't miss a day of visiting him, even though one lady in particular told me I shouldn't visit him every single day. As his wife, I knew my place was beside my husband in his worst days. When he was released to our home, he still couldn't walk. We couldn't afford to have him at a nursing home. It's funny -- I went the assistance office to get emergency service, and didn't get much assistance. So, I took care of him at our home - morning, noon, and night. I remembered thanking God for my CNA experience.

The people who helped us the most were the wonderful folks at our church at the time - the Mission Church in Holmes, NY. First, they took up a collection. Then, they made sure we had food; even non-essentials were included in the mix. They became a family to us as they made sure we had Christmas gifts for the children, and necessary items for the baby when she arrived in January. We were even given a car, and someone paid for our van to be fixed. Their benevolence fund helped us, and when things got better, we paid them back so that they could help someone else. The Mission Church is filled with people who help with loving hands, and to those beautiful people I will always be thankful.

By then, Tim had been walking with the assistance of a walker, then a cane. However, every single day, he experienced extreme pain.

The worst part of it all was that we only saw Tim's sons one time since the accident. Tim couldn't drive, but another church friend took Tim along and picked up the children, as the children were somehow convinced that if I drove the car, I would wreck the car. The last time we saw them, our newborn daughter was only a month old. After that, their mother filed for full custody. We did not have the money to fight. We tried to get a public defender, but since he had previously paid for a lawyer, he could not get a lawyer. We didn't know the legalize necessary to defend ourselves, and after other hoops that were jumped through, we ended up not having any custody of the boys. That was the darkest time for Tim. He lost his ability to use his legs to full capacity, he lost his ability to drive professionally, and then he lost his sons. If anyone knew what Job felt like, I'm sure it was my husband. I felt helpless as I watched him lay in the bed and sob tears of sorrow over his sons.

We eventually moved to a warmer climate (better suited to my husband) that was still close enough to his sons -- if things ever got better -- and to my ex-husband's. It hasn't always been easy. His hip still hurts every day, sometimes his pain causes him to be grouchy here and there, and yet he still keeps pushing on.

But, God has a plan. Even today. Even when things get their darkest in our quest to reach the area with the Gospel of Jesus Christ, Tim and I know we have been through the fire -- more than once. And we know that even if the tunnel is long and dark, the light of the Lord awaits at the other end. God has taken care of ALL of our needs. He will do it again and again in our lives. And I believe that the Lord will restore all the years that the locusts have eaten in regard to his sons. One of the sweetest days of recent history was when we heard from his younger son with his ex-wife. I sat at the computer, tears of joy streaming down my face when that beautiful, one-lined correspondence glowed upon the computer screen.

The worst part of the day is that I almost lost my love, my best friend, my husband that day. The best part -- God spared my husband's life that day. God still continues to show His blessings which emerge from the pain of life every day. And I thank God for the strength that only HE gives.

If you're going through a horrendous time, please, take comfort in knowing that ALL things work together for good for those who love the Lord. Even those things that hurt us so deeply and that we just don't understand. Put your hand in His -- He'll carry you in His arms and see you through it all. Just trust and obey; I know where you've been and know that God will NOT let you down... not for a minute. Be safe in the Lord, today and everyday.

Who is it?

Lately, I've heard from more than one person that they feel President Obama is the anti-Christ. You know, back when I was a freshman in high school, my old friend Brenda rushed up to me with the news that President Ronald Wilson Regan was the anti-Christ. The key clue to this fact was this: Regan's initials were each six letters long. You've guessed it, "6-6-6".

I'm not completely sure why there's a big group of people who believe Obama is the anti-Christ; it may be that he's the son of a Muslim, or it could be that his policies seem to be in direct violation to God's laws. This is where I'm going to either anger or challenge the "Obama is the anti-Christ" camp: it is time to stop concentrating upon "who" the anti-Christ may be and to start compelling people to fully turn their hearts and souls to Jesus Christ - no compromise - so that they can WITHSTAND the anti-Christ, should they encounter him.

Do I believe that the anti-Christ is in this world right now? Yes, I do. I believe that he will arrive on the scene in such a way that he will even fool those who say they are Christians. I believe that modern science will have a big part in fooling certain Christians and Israelites. I believe that the anti-Christ may be born of a virgin using artificial insemination of a virgin girl. You see, the devil is an imitator of our Creator, and he will try to imitate what he can using whatever means he can. How can you make sure you are not conned into hell? Read the Bible, or listen to the Bible on CD; after all, the Bible is the key to your eternal success.

But in all reality, there are many anti-Christs in the world today. Right now in the world, the single group that is persecuted more than all others are Christians. Now, Americans may scoff at that bit of information. But there are Christians dying right now in China, in India, in the Middle East, in Africa, and persecutions of Christians are on the rise all over the world. The amount of Christians killed for the cause of Christ in the past 100 years has, actually, far exceeded the number of those killed during the initial persecutions (yes, there has been more than one period of Christian persecution) for followers of The Way. There are Christians who are forcibly being made slaves right this minute in Sudan. And in America, bars, schools, government offices, and churches themselves are filled to the brim with anti-christs.

I love America, and am thankful for the opportunities I currently possess here. But, there is a time soon coming, church, where we will NOT be able to speak or worship freely. American Christians are adding to the problem by adding all sorts of forms of gnosticism in their personal lives. They twist and turn the Gospel of Jesus Christ to fit THEIR ideal of what THEY think God should be. We want to enjoy a "religious smoothie" chock-filled to the brim with things that the Bible specifically warns us against. There is a serious problem, here. We Christians in America have been worshipping at the altar of "me" long enough -- we need to stop doing whatever feels "good" to us, and start doing what's RIGHT by GOD'S standards.

I may sound like a religious kook writing this, and I really don't care. What I care about is stirring you another place, a place higher than the heavens above; I want to urge you to place your hand in the One who formed you, the One who loves you beyond measure, and to honestly ask of Jesus, who possesses the Name above ALL names, "Lord, will You shape me into the person that You want me to be? Burn off all of the junk that is not of You, and mold me into the beautiful vessel that you envision me to be."

It's time to stop playing games, people. After all, Jesus wasn't joking around when He was dying on that cross almost 2000 years ago to make an atonement for you and me.

I'm tired of sitting back and hiding in the shadows -- I want to stand up and be bold for Jesus Christ -- no compromise. Whether you come with me or not in this venture is up to you, but as for me and my house, we will serve the Lord.

Oh,, C'mon...

Tonight, when the news was about to come on, I said to my husband, "I swear, if they have Michael Jackson as the lead story again tonight, I... will... SCREAM!"

Sure enough, the lead story was about how people "won tickets" to see the body of the man. I screamed as best as I could, considering I've been ill the past couple of days.

You see alot when you have nothing to do but sleep and gaze glass-eyed at the television.

I may receive flak for this, but there's more to genius than the way a person spins or sings. For every Britney Spears who can't sing, yet is famous, you have 100 Susan Boyles who sing and dance beautifully, yet unheard -- unless brought miraculously to the limelight.

For every "Air McNair" out there, there are 100's of young men who have been heroes of their own high school stadiums.

For every politician who strays on their wives (unfortunately, that seems to be a prerequisite to obtain a major political post), there are 100's of honest, hard-working civil servants.

In the this bed-rest period, I was also drawn to the Word. This is the problem; every time I turned around, I was drawn to the book of Ezekiel. I'm not the biggest fan of the book of Ezekiel, simply because some of the visual stuff is so hard to visualize. There are some very hard things to come to terms with in that book, and some very frightening things in that book. But just the same, God has a big tendency to stretch us and push us past our comfort zones.

In Ezekiel, Chapter 3, it spoke to me that not all of us will be sent to a land where people don't know our language. We actually may be called to minister to those in our own country, which could be harder to preach to than a foreign land. The way that God describes Israel, "hardened and obstinate", sounds so much like America. We are a proud people who has drifted so far from God, that we are like the church of Laodicia mentioned in Revelation.

Then, on another reading, I noticed where God tells Ezekiel that He has given Ezekiel the job of a watchman. Now, a watchman stood diligently at the tower at the city walls, and would stand guard. If trouble was brewing, it was the watchman's job to warn those within the city walls; if he saw trouble and said nothing, blame for those killed in the ensuing battle fell on that watchman's shoulders.

So, all of this has got me thinking... what are we doing? Even those who say we are Christians idolize other things and people. We rush to the big-time preachers as though they have some magical word for us that God Himself wishes to share with us in those quiet moments with Him. And, we need to be more responsible for getting the Word out to our brothers and sisters, our friends and neighbors, people that we know personally, and those that we don't know all that well.

You know, one thing that bothered me so greatly over this Michael Jackson business is there are people who never had a single day's interaction with this man who spent over 43-thousand dollars a month on prescription drugs, sobbing real sobs over this person they never knew. Yet, they don't understand the devotion of a person who adores the One who died to save their soul. He didn't do it for money, He didn't do it for His own glory - He did it for the love of YOU.

How do I express to my friends and neighbors that time IS running short, and that there IS a God who cares about them, and get them to actually listen? I know -- God said to Ezekiel that if he did try to warn a person, and that person did not want to hear the truth, then Ezekiel was free of all blame.

Why do I feel a need to write this? Because I need to tell you that there IS a Father in Heaven who loves you with a never ending love. He's waiting for you to turn to Him with your heart. He's been waiting for you to stop searching and he's waiting for you, with the porch lights on. Please, open your heart enough to honestly and humbly ask, "God, if you do exist, could you please lead me to You?" He will meet you, and you won't be disappointed!