tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-62874529760731337272024-03-19T06:11:04.633-07:00Passages Ripped from the Team DiaryA collection of stories, ideas, thoughts and perspectives...(things we probably wouldn't tell you unless you asked)UMC Team 1http://www.blogger.com/profile/07440818096865345778noreply@blogger.comBlogger17125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6287452976073133727.post-47583761098102206232015-11-29T00:00:00.000-08:002015-12-21T16:53:12.863-08:00Advent & The Timeline of Faith<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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by Bridgett Clark<br />
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The word “Advent” is derived from the Latin word, “Adventus” meaning, “coming.” Scholars believe that Advent began during the 3rd and 4th centuries. It was a season of preparation for baptism that took place in January, either during the feast of Epiphany or the celebration of Jesus’ baptism. It wasn’t until the 6th century that Advent was connected to the second coming of Christ, and the middle ages when it was linked to Christmas and His first “coming.” <br />
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Today, during the season of Advent, we connect the two comings as well as to the people 2,000 years ago. In the First Century, Israel was looking back on God’s deliverance in Egypt, while looking forward to the “coming” of the Messiah. Today, we look back on the birth of the Messiah, while looking forward to the second “coming” of Christ. <br />
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When thinking of Advent this year I envisioned us standing in the middle of a timeline where we have the best of both worlds. We can look back on history, while looking forward to Christ’s return. Looking back on history allows us to stop and think about the faith of those on the timeline behind us. God purposely recorded the interaction He had with His people for a reason. It gives us a glimpse into how God interacts with us today. Many times, we are looking back on real people with real worries walking through real situations, not necessarily spiritual powers, or angels or other phenomenal situations. Two thousand years ago, God’s people had the same tools of faith that we have now. Ancient stories of God’s deliverance and God’s promises for the future.<br />
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Looking back on the timeline of faith also gives us security in knowing that if God kept His promise to rebellious, doubtful, and ungrateful people back then, He will do the same for us. We can relate to the people in the desert that said, “This isn’t what we signed up for, we didn’t expect it to be this hard, I’d rather be enslaved in Egypt than here in the desert.” Yet, celebrate the fact that God didn’t leave them in the desert to die, but kept His end of the deal and brought them into the Promised Land. We can understand when the people of the Bible try to dig themselves out of situations in their own power, before turning to God, yet celebrate the fact that even though they had adulterous hearts, God still placed His infant son into their arms. There is deep security in knowing that we have a God who gives us the ability to look back in time and see that even in our ugliest moments he won’t forsake us.<br />
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One of the greatest fears we face as humans is the fear of the unknown. Not knowing what the future holds terrifies the strongest of people. Having the ability to look back in time gives us the faith to look forward into a future that isn’t unknown, but certain. The second coming of Christ will intimately involve us, the very earth we are standing on will be destroyed by fire. A new earth will come down out of heaven and Satan will be bound and thrown into the Abyss. Jesus will return and reign as King, and the believers living at the time will transform into His likeness. Believers who had passed will then rise and receive their resurrected bodies. On this new earth, only those who believe in Christ will live. Therefore, every knee will bow and every tongue confess that Christ is Lord. None of us will have to wonder what we will do for a living because we will all be priests of God and will reign with him for a thousand years. Imagine, a thousand years without goodbyes because death will no longer have sting, but will be destroyed. As sure as we are of the birth of Christ, so too are we of His second coming. Infact, the last words Jesus spoke in the Bible are, “Yes, I am coming soon.” <br />
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Being able to stand in the middle of the timeline of faith is a gift from God. Looking back gives us a foundation for our faith, while looking forward, gives us a retreat for our minds. This is the same sort of retreat we have when a vacation is planned and inching towards us. No matter what we are going through or how rotten our days might be. When we stop and think about that vacation, the troubles don’t hit us as hard. This is the gift God offers us during the season of Advent. We can be thankful that we have an eternal vacation to look forward to when life gets rough, that no matter what we are going through it’s going to be okay because Jesus has come, and will come again soon.UMC Team 1http://www.blogger.com/profile/07440818096865345778noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6287452976073133727.post-64570921788404528612015-11-04T08:39:00.004-08:002015-11-04T08:39:59.668-08:00Insomniac’s Threshold <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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by Travis Montgomery<br />
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I ruminate. It’s how my mind works. Don’t get me wrong, I know that it’s unhealthy to chew on a problem over and over again during all hours of the night, while desperately praying for sleep. However, as of yet, any other alternative has escaped me.<br />
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One stressful night, I laid in bed and felt as though my heart was pumping pure adrenaline. Two hours of unsuccessful sleep seemed like an adequate enough attempt to me, so I decided to take a walk down my country road to pray and calm my mind. <br />
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The whole village of Gibsonburg seemed asleep as I stepped out onto my back porch. It was a particularly dark night and I felt the cool night air blow gently across my face and arms. I walked down my gravel driveway and stepped onto the blacktop of my county road and noted how quiet my footsteps were--nearly silent. Making my way down the road, I only took a dozen steps or so when I heard rustling from the trees directly next to me.<br />
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I stopped to listen. “It” seemingly stopped as well. After a few moments, I walked directly toward the sound and silently slipped right up to the tree line running down the side of the road. Then I waited. I could barely make out the trees, and the darkness acted like a thick, black blanket, beyond which I could see nothing. If I stretched out my hand, it would have disappeared immediately into the void. <br />
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I controlled my breath and stood as dreadfully still as I could. The silence that surrounded me broke with the deep breathing of something far larger than a raccoon. I could hear the rasp of the air traveling down its windpipe. My eyes scanned the darkness directly in front of me. I expected its eyes were doing the same. I felt as though I could reach out and touch it. <br />
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Before too long I heard the movement of shrubs. “It” turned into “they” and “they” were ever-so-close. In that moment I felt a mixture of excitement, fear and adventure come over me. My fight or flight response rose up, and I chose to stand still. I wanted to know. I wanted to experience whatever that was… as closely as possible. I imagined what it would be like if a large buck walked right out onto the street right next to me. How majestic would that be? How awe inspiring and wonderful?<br />
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I realized that the very thing which drove me to the street that night, was being experienced in that moment. My mind sought to capture every possible option, every variable and every control to manage well this ever-present problem robbing me of rest that night. I had worked it over long enough. It was as if I had come up to a dark threshold that separated me from knowing what was coming--from knowing the outcome of my decisions. At this point, it didn't matter how much longer I ruminated. The darkness would still be there. The only choice I had left was to continue trying to control outcomes, to my own detriment, or to stand in faith and trust. <br />
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May we be the kind of people who think things through, attempt to see things from all angles, consider all of the options and make wise judgments to guide each step of our lives. However, when we reach the end our understanding and find ourselves on the brink of darkness, may we also be the kind of people who take steps in faith, through the void, expecting to experience the wonder and surprise of all the Lord has in store. <br />
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Pastor TravisUMC Team 1http://www.blogger.com/profile/07440818096865345778noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6287452976073133727.post-67238540597483955722015-06-29T16:06:00.001-07:002015-06-29T16:06:36.705-07:00How To Handle The News<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">by J. T. Bean</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I have been amazed recently at how quickly our national conversations have shifted and changed. On the evening of June 17, 2015, a mass shooting took place at Emanuel African Methodist Episcopal Church in downtown Charleston, South Carolina. As the nation mourned this tragedy, the news (network, cable and social media) erupted with talk about racism, violence and gun control. It wasn't long before the discussion evolved to whether the Confederate flag was befitting of display at state capitals. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">No sooner had that debate been settled than the issue of gay marriage rose to front-and-center. It seems with each change of topic, the discourse of popular opinion seems to get more heated and controversial. It’s enough to want to throw my hands up in surrender and say, “I give up!” We seem to rush full-speed from one crisis or controversy to another. Before I can get a handle on what I know or believe, there’s another front-page headline to consume. I can’t seem to keep up with the news, the debates, the opinions, name-calling, no-nothings, and know-it-alls! A</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">m I the only one that feels like this?!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I know some people enjoy a heated debate or find pleasure in the midst of an argument. People like this relish the fight. Me? I’ve never been in a real fight my whole life. I’ve never thrown a punch, let alone landed one! And when it comes to arguments, I tend to avoid the back-and-forth “war of words”. I learned long ago not to engage in petty arguments on social media because it wasn’t worth the emotional energy I would expend. I back down rather than ramp up because I don’t like conflict. I don’t like taking sides. I am a peacemaker. A negotiator. I want everyone to get along. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">That’s why I take comfort in the words of Hebrews 13:8: <b><i>“Jesus Christ is the same yesterday, today and forever.” </i></b>The Lord doesn’t change with the shift in news cycles. He is steadfast, firm and predictable. His love never fails. He is a rock. A refuge. An ever-present help in times of need.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Knowing this, we can find peace in the midst of the many changes taking place in our culture at home and in our world abroad. When we build our house upon the “rock” of Jesus Christ, we have no fear when the rain comes, streams rise, winds beat and the storms of life shake the foundations of our life’s house (see Matthew 7:24-27). If our house is built on a solid foundation, we can sleep soundly knowing that it will not fall. </span></div>
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<li><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Trust in the Lord. </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Stand firm on His unchanging Word. </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Rest easy in the light of His love. </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He will not let you go. </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He will never leave you or forsake you.</span></li>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Whatever hot topic pops up next, I know I don’t have to win an argument or prove that I’m right. God’s Word assures me of eternal promises that are far more important than the latest Tweet or the newest trend.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I’m not saying we shouldn’t engage in the fight. There are some things that are worth fighting for. There are some things we can’t afford to be “neutral” about. But in the back-and-forth of debate, don’t forget your Christian calling to love like Jesus. In the end, it is the sincerity of your love that will convince others of their need for a Savior.</span></div>
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<b style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i>“</i></b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b><i>Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good.</i></b></span><b style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i>”</i></b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> (Romans 12:21)</span></div>
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UMC Team 1http://www.blogger.com/profile/07440818096865345778noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6287452976073133727.post-52573414744718321162015-03-06T15:23:00.001-08:002015-03-06T15:23:26.102-08:00Here's The Scoop<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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by Bruce Perry<br />
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My first job was working in an
ice cream store. They served hand dipped
ice cream that was made right there in addition to homemade candies. I worked there in the evenings after I got
home from high school. Some of my friends worked there
with me. There was a jukebox in the
corner that played three songs for a quarter.
I had unlimited access to ice cream and candy. I wore a crisp white apron. To this day it was the best job I’ve ever
had!</div>
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It was a family owned
business. Two brothers owned the place
and I worked for them. They were old,
had gray hair and were in charge. I’m
guessing they were in their late 50’s or so (about my age now!). The point is, they were too old to be pals
with us. They were the bosses and we
knew it.<o:p></o:p></div>
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One day I was making a sundae
for a customer. I had just dipped the
vanilla ice cream into the dish. Before
I could add the topping, one of the brothers took the dish, walked it down to
the candy section and put it on the scale to weigh it. Without a word he brought it back and set it
down in front of me and walked away.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I finished the sundae, gave it
to the customer and that ended the transaction.
Except…I wanted to know what had happened on the scale. Was I scooping out too much ice cream? Frankly, the portion I dipped out <i>looked</i> rather generous. Was it too much? The owner never said. In fact, it was never mentioned again.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The result of that brief scale
episode was that I got angry. If I gave
too much ice cream, I wanted to know.
Even if I got into some kind of trouble, I wanted to know. Of course, if I hadn’t put too much in the
dish, I wanted to know that, too. I
wanted the vindication. But it was not
to be. I still don’t know the answer.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Now I’m all grown up. I live and work in God’s World. A wonderful place full of things to discover
and enjoy.<o:p></o:p></div>
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God’s World is a family
business. God is the boss and His Son
works in the business with Him. His Son
does everything perfectly. He smiles at
the people who come and go from His presence.
He serves quickly and always gives full measure. He is never late because He is always at
work.<o:p></o:p></div>
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When I work with Him I never do
things as well as He does. But instead
of feeling threatened by my not measuring up to His Standard, I am always
encouraged and I have the Perfect Example to follow and learn from.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Sometimes I’m messy and I spill
things on the white apron that I’ve been given.
Instead of having the stained apron get in the way of my relationship
with The Son, He gives me a clean new apron whenever I ask for one.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I still wonder about that
sundae perched on the scale. Which was
it? Heavy, light or just right? In God’s World, I don’t fear the scale. As long as I work with The Son, He’ll make
sure that through His Grace, I measure up.<br /><br />So come into The Shoppe. Be served by The Son. Good things are being dished up and full
measure is always given!</div>
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UMC Team 1http://www.blogger.com/profile/07440818096865345778noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6287452976073133727.post-22878706489202429702015-02-04T10:15:00.001-08:002015-02-07T08:11:22.379-08:00Squirrel In The Closet<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5AEhTh7r14_JGquPkySFA0e6LCi9Urv-WYgzxMfXdEE9P1AT8bjyWchi9xrD7cZdRGxdQ9BouevOYbT4oNE7iKm4Eqo3Kqkr5aLw1rxBzpSY3vYRiPDarE4LnStSHJ4zNopP9ihE0z91m/s1600/TRAVIS.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5AEhTh7r14_JGquPkySFA0e6LCi9Urv-WYgzxMfXdEE9P1AT8bjyWchi9xrD7cZdRGxdQ9BouevOYbT4oNE7iKm4Eqo3Kqkr5aLw1rxBzpSY3vYRiPDarE4LnStSHJ4zNopP9ihE0z91m/s1600/TRAVIS.gif" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">by Travis Montgomery</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I love living in the country. My kids play in the yard and I don’t worry about them. When I get the urge to get away, I can walk through my backyard and around fields without interruption. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">However, there are some things I’ve learned about living in the country that I didn’t expect. Every winter we have a mass of rodents that believe I’ve fixed up my old house, so that they can live in it. Groundhogs, check. Raccoons, check. Mice, check. Squirrels, check. As it turns out, the country has turned me into a killer.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8O_hhf4TH02Kf0nJLayX7MKTot4_i0kOmuGY2ElDHxxVMo_KyZ7a-ExvBasCnCjNHaEIzoNsWcE_A4Mw-duB8NIrexJfjJrnHEdoybtHBM6Wfk0svWMC5jdT6E8D1rMqVj-8F4_gEkyOR/s1600/squirrel.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8O_hhf4TH02Kf0nJLayX7MKTot4_i0kOmuGY2ElDHxxVMo_KyZ7a-ExvBasCnCjNHaEIzoNsWcE_A4Mw-duB8NIrexJfjJrnHEdoybtHBM6Wfk0svWMC5jdT6E8D1rMqVj-8F4_gEkyOR/s1600/squirrel.jpg" height="200" width="150" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />I’ve hidden in bushes with my .22 laying in wait for critters to emerge from my foundation. I’ve trapped rodents in my attic with cages. I’ve even plummeted into the disgusting depths of my very narrow crawlspace with a shovel, hoping to battle it out with a massive coon. As shocking as it is to me, even my wife has developed an instant “what have I won?” face when she hears the snap of mousetraps.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Despite all of that, it’s the squirrels that drive me nuts. Punny, I know. In the middle of the night, I can hear these things crawling around in walls of my bedroom closet. That’s where they play squirrel games and have little nocturnal squirrelraves when I’m trying to sleep.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">One night, while sleepless in my bed, I pondered the term “skeletons in the closet.” Isn’t it odd that we would use a skeleton, something dead and gone, as a symbol for past sins? What’s interesting is that the inanimate object, a skeleton, seemingly lays dormant and unthreatening unless exposed… but, that’s not how sin really works. Sins don’t just sit idly by until someone digs them up. It’s the opposite. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Past sins act more like squirrels in the closet. They dig, claw and disrupt our peace until, at last, they’re addressed. Sure, we wrap pillows around our heads, hoping to drown out the scratching for moments of silence. We put our attention elsewhere to distract us from the noise. We can even grow somewhat used to the “scratching” after long exposure. All of these offer only momentary peace.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">We’re going into a new year. It’s time to put past sins behind us and move forward in peace. God offers forgiveness to those who earnestly repent of wrongdoings. Who other than God could help us resolve past sins and separate them from us “as far as the East is from the West?”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">On the other side of a repentant heart is peace. Bring your heart to God.</span>UMC Team 1http://www.blogger.com/profile/07440818096865345778noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6287452976073133727.post-5462475689719870872014-07-03T14:22:00.001-07:002014-07-03T14:37:27.447-07:00Miracles<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12pt;">
by Jared
Grosse<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3GIw9ukOTAFwv8Mx-9nLnFRnXyqRRfxFvcS6BQlDZLsdZGC7rG952E5-3t3eQXHf9gwlM2V-f3U5rpD4oDbwx335pB3SnANjBIzoVeWR_vkSRHOmZZjsUnyrC8V6pjoLDrPH19RYFjcKK/s1600/JARED_G.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3GIw9ukOTAFwv8Mx-9nLnFRnXyqRRfxFvcS6BQlDZLsdZGC7rG952E5-3t3eQXHf9gwlM2V-f3U5rpD4oDbwx335pB3SnANjBIzoVeWR_vkSRHOmZZjsUnyrC8V6pjoLDrPH19RYFjcKK/s1600/JARED_G.png" /></a></div>
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Have you
ever experienced a miracle? I did.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12pt;">
Once. But before I tell that story, a quick word on
the modern challenge of this topic. Were
a “miracle” poll taken in our local churches, I bet a good portion would
identify themselves as cessationists (believing that all miracles “ceased”
early on in the life of the Church). Some might side with the non-cessationists
(believing miracles continue to happen whether we realize it or not, or perhaps
only in specific time and places). Many
might just chalk it up to mystery, saying, “Who knows?”<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZQmqRC3IcjmfjKPKaFQj3w0nAanPNCYDI1zNotRQESjQdGvcbpHZGuBF7yDUgfE6sovm7Z7wzaGCqbSU8UPqIohOxa0G5NHDOTkc-yHWgtrlX4wEdPN2Z4m5ODxXn1pJkN66kAzpZvr7i/s1600/redseamiracle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZQmqRC3IcjmfjKPKaFQj3w0nAanPNCYDI1zNotRQESjQdGvcbpHZGuBF7yDUgfE6sovm7Z7wzaGCqbSU8UPqIohOxa0G5NHDOTkc-yHWgtrlX4wEdPN2Z4m5ODxXn1pJkN66kAzpZvr7i/s1600/redseamiracle.jpg" height="151" width="200" /></a></div>
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The latter
option is attractive because it keeps one from having to answer some very
difficult questions. What is a miracle,
anyway? Is it a natural or super-natural
event? If it is supernatural, can we
call a material event (like a beautiful sunset or a successful chemotherapy)
miraculous? How do we reconcile miracles
with science? Why would God turn water
into wine for a party but not heal my grandmother’s Alzheimer’s? Questions like these make this a challenging
topic.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Personally,
I embrace the word “miracle” to describe natural events. If you have ever been captivated by a
beautiful landscape, or feeding a newborn child, or a brilliant starlit sky…
well, you probably know what I mean. It
is that moment when we observe something explainable by natural causes, yet
know deep down that it is beyond our ability to fully explain. There is indeed something miraculous about
the natural world of our common experience. <o:p></o:p></div>
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However, in
light of personal experience and science’s ability to explain more of what
happens, I admit that I tend to be skeptical of modern-day claims to
“supernatural” miracles. Be it lack of
faith or misunderstanding, I have simply not witnessed such events or been
persuaded by those who have. <o:p></o:p></div>
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That is,
until May of 2011. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I graduated
from college just two weeks earlier, and there was much to celebrate as I
closed that chapter of my life. Months
earlier, three college friends and I decided there was only one proper way to
celebrate our accomplishment: by bicycling coast to coast. The adventure of a lifetime! As I worked, saved money and studied hard in
the months leading up to the trip, I remember feeling that the day would never
come. The daily grind of work, school,
internships and marathon training became painful in the shadow of the looming
adventure. At last, when we mounted our
heavy-laden bicycles in New York City’s Time Square to begin our pilgrimage
west, it felt as if nothing could squelch the glory of that beautiful moment.<o:p></o:p></div>
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But
something did. <o:p></o:p></div>
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As we rode out
of Time Square, through Central Park, over the George Washington Bridge and
into the hills of New Jersey, my marathon-trained body handled the steep grades
with ease. However, just as I was about
to crest the largest climb of the day… POP!
Excruciating pain flooded my knee and my life quickly turned to
shambles. At first, I couldn’t imagine
how I hurt myself. Having just run a
marathon less than a month prior, I should have been more than prepared to
climb these hills! However, as I sought
an explanation, I became convinced that the marathon was what actually caused
my injury. Both knees had been
dangerously swollen at the end of the 26.2 mile race, and it seemed that one
month was simply not enough time to recover.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12pt;">
I remounted
my bicycle, hoping that I was mistaken about the gravity of my injury, and that
it would pass as my body adjusted. But
the pain worsened with each pedal, each brutal hill haunting me with the
prospect of quitting this glorious adventure before it had really begun. What if I tore a major ligament? Could I recover enough to meet up with the
guys a couple of weeks down the road?
How would I get home? Were all
the dollars, effort and travel that went into this for nothing? This was no way to begin the next chapter of
my life!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12pt;">
As the pain
and questions piled up, so did my anxiety.
My hard-earned dreams were being dashed before my eyes with every
painful pedal. The prospect of riding
another mile seemed impossible.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12pt;">
Somehow,
though, I did. It wasn’t pretty, but I managed
to limp into camp that night with my peers.
As I was falling asleep and icing my knee, I prayed that, against the
odds, this new chapter of my life would begin, not with pain and
disappointment, but with promise and optimism.
That this trip would end, not with an injury, but with my friends at the
Pacific Ocean. However, my words felt
weak, as did my chances of continuing this journey.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12pt;">
My faint
hope that a good night's sleep would improve things was quickly crushed. Instead, I was woken constantly by melting
ice in my sleeping bag and the pain that it failed to alleviate. In the morning, I emerged from the tent
stiff, tired and thinking that going home might not be such a bad idea after
all. After tenderly packing up, I got on
the bike and reluctantly followed my peers, quickly nearing the end of my
ability to endure this punishment. Hours
of painful riding gave way to an unusual bright spot as we came to the Delaware
River and our second border crossing.
After crossing the bridge into Pennsylvania, we all dove into the frigid
state line. We swam. We splashed each other. We laughed.
But, most importantly, we allowed two days of sweat and stress to wash
off into the icy water. Crawling back
onto the riverbank, we drank in the sun’s warmth and the realization that we
were living our dreams. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12pt;">
But that’s
not the best part. Because that swim was
also the end of my knee pain. It was as
if the waters of the Delaware were infused with the healing power of the mighty
Jordan in many of the Bible’s healing miracles.
From the moment I remounted my bike at the Delaware to the moment I
dipped my bike in the Pacific Ocean nine weeks later, not ONCE did the pain
return. It was enough to flabbergast
even this miracle-doubting skeptic! <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12pt;">
I have often
wondered if there might be a natural explanation for my instant recovery. Could the frigid, flowing water have affected
my knee in a manner a physical therapist could explain? Could it be I sustained a minor injury
(strained tendon, tight ligament, etc.) that was bound to pass soon anyway?
Sure.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12pt;">
Yet, I tend to doubt these objections. After all, I spent hours the night before
applying “cold water”(ice) to my knee. I
woke up feeling worse. I also struggle
attributing the extreme pain I experienced to a strained tendon. But, frankly, I think raising these kinds of
objections in an effort to demystify this experience is to miss an important
point. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12pt;">
Miracles
have little to do with natural versus unnatural explanation and have everything
to do with expectation. I was convinced
that my ailing knee should have ended my trip.
There was no reason for me to expect that I should continue the harsh
life of daily cycling for the next two months and 3,000 miles. Even if a doctor gave me an explanation of
the healing in medical terms, I would still consider this event a miracle. Was it miraculous because it was
supernatural? Who knows? But more importantly, it was a miracle
because when all seemed lost, hope emerged from the most unlikely of
places. Because at the beginning of the
next chapter of my life, I received exactly what I needed to continue the
journey that would go on to shape my story in profound ways. It was a miracle because it was an unexpected
gift at a time of great need.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12pt;">
In the weeks
and miles to come, our team of bicycle tourists continued to experience the
miraculous. It happened when a family
picked us up on the interstate when we were hours from the nearest town – at
midnight. It happened when a rural
Oregon farming couple invited us into their home when we desperately needed
it. It happened when my last tire went
flat in Middle-of-Nowhere, Idaho, and my pitiful repair kit kept the shredded
tire alive until I got to the next town 20 miles away. However, we also experienced the miraculous
in common events. Like when we watched a
perfect sunset unfold over the farmland of southern Michigan. Or when this North Carolinian rode past a
home in Metamora, Ohio oblivious to the fact that I would be living and writing
this article in that very house today.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12pt;">
These
experiences taught me that the miraculous and the unexpected do not have to be
rare. While they do happen on
once-in-a-lifetime bicycle tours, the unexpected gifts of the miraculous are
also right at home in the commonplace.
For example, I experience the miraculous when I make my morning cup of
coffee just right. Or when my community
retreats from the busyness of daily survival to fellowship over a meal and a
game. I can find miracles most anywhere
when I slow down enough to become aware of it.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12pt;">
Scripture
points to a God of the miraculous. We
see this in supernatural events like the parting of the Red Sea, the plagues on
Egypt, the virgin birth of Jesus and the healing miracles of the gospels. However, we also see this in God’s decision
to create, and recreate, the miracle of life.
We see it in the bodily resurrection of Jesus, an act which reclaims the
goodness of ALL creation, even down to the stuff of our everyday lives. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12pt;">
Regardless
of whether you identify as a cessationist, non-cessationist, uncertain or
skeptic, we can all be grateful and aware of the biblical claim that all of
life is a miracle to be appreciated. It
is an unexpected gift. And we get to be
a part of it. Perhaps there is an event
in your life, like my healing in the Delaware River, which needs to be
reclaimed as the miracle that it is.
Maybe you need to slow down and take time to become aware again of the
miraculous nature of everyday life. Like
my morning cup of coffee. Or our
beautiful Midwestern sunsets. Or
fellowship with loved ones. Could it be
that God is calling you, as He is me, to be the miracle of hospitality to the
next bicyclist that rolls through town?
However God is calling you to reclaim the miraculous, may we remember
that we serve a God who creates and resurrects all things. May we be ambassadors of the truth that all
of life is miraculous.<o:p></o:p></div>
UMC Team 1http://www.blogger.com/profile/07440818096865345778noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6287452976073133727.post-19212187552358944902014-04-14T16:48:00.000-07:002014-04-14T16:48:00.676-07:00Are We Throwing the Baby Out With the Hammock?<div class="MsoNormal">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnKqVeYQ0clLWBbBDXmlXntU5mOLlJONEWFbKHU_068OEWBRjA9hn10_66YKWeuURcJW8cSfsHaZ420ziSDcs4-z4HxoZLDvQyUIa1nzOSrZAXFg0MROAw35zz42D4t4E-FJpgm_QLKrJZ/s1600/ChadR55pix.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnKqVeYQ0clLWBbBDXmlXntU5mOLlJONEWFbKHU_068OEWBRjA9hn10_66YKWeuURcJW8cSfsHaZ420ziSDcs4-z4HxoZLDvQyUIa1nzOSrZAXFg0MROAw35zz42D4t4E-FJpgm_QLKrJZ/s1600/ChadR55pix.png" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">by
Chad Roper</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">That
old “throwing the baby out with the bathwater” phrase may hold much modern wisdom
for us as we field some of the curve balls that 21<sup>st</sup> century living
throws our way. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">First,
though, we need to talk babies.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">One
thing that Sarah and I love to do is babysit. Watching our nieces and nephews
allows us to briefly experience the joys and challenges of parenting with the comfortable
assurance of a designated end point. For
example, if we become exhausted after a marathon crying session, or if the
Pull-Ups leak all over our new bed––well, at least I know it won’t happen again
the next night!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Case
in point: our three-year-old nephew, Noah, is a “restless sleeper.” Now to call Noah a restless sleeper is like
saying that the sun’s hot, forever is a long time, or that the Pope is
Catholic. This kid doesn’t know what <i>still</i> is! <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When
you first get him down for bed, he’s pretty calm, and he lulls you into a false
sense of security––enough that you almost drift off to sleep. And that’s when the first kick happens. Out of the nowhere, he lets loose with a
full-bore, field-goal-worthy kick to the groin. Or the stomach if you’re lucky.
And this is only the beginning. About
every two hours or so, he makes a full 360 degree rotation, punching and
kicking whatever soft, fleshy parts of our bodies get within his range. I’ve also learned that even if you manage to
crumple yourself up at the bottom of the bed, well outside of “the circle of
pain,” you still are not safe from Noah’s sleep sabotage. I’ve never heard another human being be quite
so verbally expressive while totally unconscious. It’s as if he doesn’t hit his question quota
during his waking hours!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">One
of Sarah’s many talents, for which she garners my deepest respect, is her
ability to endure this assault for its entire duration. I, on the other hand, learned my lesson from
the first dose of this madness and typically get up as soon as Noah falls
asleep to seek safer slumber elsewhere.
Usually this means sleeping in my hammock.</span></span><br />
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</div>
<span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQc_rQuznviNq1o9x4br8m-mzjvP5jNPktrpXyfjcx2LJU2vu4ueLZIF0vllC3LlO_C6PKy4MATI-2IjyOi2zV3-O4pKTpqLB0uFN2XuSzkHDSIBtCr3AtLjon4rpcnKhzHXS3-ahwMoLC/s1600/relaxing-in-a-hammock.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQc_rQuznviNq1o9x4br8m-mzjvP5jNPktrpXyfjcx2LJU2vu4ueLZIF0vllC3LlO_C6PKy4MATI-2IjyOi2zV3-O4pKTpqLB0uFN2XuSzkHDSIBtCr3AtLjon4rpcnKhzHXS3-ahwMoLC/s1600/relaxing-in-a-hammock.jpg" height="112" width="200" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Now
I fully acknowledge the unusual nature of utilizing a hammock as an alternative
to the traditional pillow and mattress.
I know that most people would never consider doing such a thing. But, as I am often reminded when it comes to
things like this, I am not like most people.
As a backpacker and cyclist, I’ve come to love the wonderful benefits
hammock camping affords. They’re
lightweight, incredibly packable and just plain simple. I’ve had some of the greatest sleep of my
life suspended over roots, rocks and rubble, on the inclines of mountains, or
in dry as a bone during torrential downpours, all while peacefully swaying back
and forth.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">One day, long before I was married, I
rearranged my bedroom, adjusted my mattress and washed all my sheets. With all
the added complexity of beds, I couldn’t help wondering if there wasn’t an
easier, more simpler way to sleep. Maybe
there was something outside of the box that I hadn’t considered. I recalled the sublimely restful sleep I’d
experienced in my camping hammock and wondered if I couldn’t replicate that in
my house. After drilling a couple
eyebolts into the studs of my bedroom walls, I was totally sold on indoor hammocks! <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Much like Noah, I used to toss and turn
quite a bit during the night. After
sleeping in my hammock, however, I noticed that these issues were completely
eliminated. This prompted me to investigate further into using hammocks as
beds. I was amazed to discover that
people had been sleeping in hammocks for thousands of years and that I was
apparently the last one to join the party.
I also discovered that in addition to offering a good night’s sleep, the
hammock also offered a lot of medical benefits as well, to include: falling
asleep faster, increased length of N2 sleep (which is tied to greater brain
plasticity), and a reduction of insomnia and restless sleeping due to healthy
body positioning and zero pressure points.
When I then told other people about this “grand rediscovery” of mine,
they oftentimes failed to share my enthusiasm. In some cases, they couldn’t
even fathom what spending a night in a hammock was like. This ancient, traditional way to sleep had become
almost wholly forgotten.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Today, millions of young people, from my
age down to little children like my nephew Noah, won’t even be aware of the
fact that once upon a time, there was a day at the beginning of every week that
was set aside by God for rest and renewal.
It was a day when grocery stores and gas stations were closed and
families spent the day together, engaged in leisurely and restorative
activities. Can you even believe, given
the way we live our lives now, that such a time ever existed? I’d imagine that
if the gas stations were closed, a person would have to <i>plan and prepare</i> when they filled up their tanks. Might these be
some of the same values that we’re losing?
I know there are many people who could not imagine the inconvenience of
such a day and would feel greatly constrained by it’s observance. Where convenience is concerned, I think it’s
important to remember, that God provides us with such instructions not to burden
us, but to lighten and free us and so that we can live better, more fuller
lives with Him! While it may be nice to
live in a society of instant gratification, what have we sacrificed in gradually
yielding up our day of rest? What do we
lose when we can’t spend time with our families and friends over holidays
because they have to go work at a store that never closes? What do we lose when of the health our loved
ones deteriorates after years and years of non-stop momentum and stress? <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Maybe keeping the Sabbath holy isn’t the
bathwater we think it is.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Life is an opportunity to be agents of Christ’s
light, love and restoration, not only to those around us but to the whole world
over. Preserving the Sabbath, as mandated by God Himself, helps us fulfill our
calling. Weary ourselves, what do we offer our brothers and sisters who are on
the verge of total physical and spiritual exhaustion? Who among us cannot use a
day to be renewed and recalibrated by God’s goodness? <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Compared to my grand “re-discovery” of
the Sabbath and its purposes, the hammock realization became nothing! Observing
God’s sacred day creates this beautiful life rhythm in which my work is orderly
and purposeful. I have delineated boundaries, looking forward to definite end
points in my tasks – the same way I do with babysitting. <span style="color: red;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Immersed in actively resting, my soul is
refreshed and my perspective is rejuvenated. I am free to experience the love
and peace of Almighty God, the One who spoke the universe into existence, in a
brand new way. Reading my Bible with a fresh cup of coffee in hand, walking in
the warm afternoon sun, appreciating His stunning handiwork … all are wholly
new and wonderfully electric experiences.
<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Observing the Sabbath is just one of
many ancient and, dare I say, neglected expressions of our faith. Rediscovering
and implementing this important aspect of Christianity will enrich our lives
individually and corporately. Make time to rest in the knowledge of God’s
goodness and faithfulness.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Hiding in plain sight, it’s His solution
for that which afflicts us. We need only do it.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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UMC Team 1http://www.blogger.com/profile/07440818096865345778noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6287452976073133727.post-56354773547241354722014-01-04T14:38:00.001-08:002014-01-04T18:55:27.079-08:00The Warrior Spirit<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfmdk26oTQQl_vWlfBbb3FW-TeUEEBvo5wtmXM37OKDpuDkSWlNwUvfNj8VJfns23IpG7PPmd8OHsAwqDVXX3fx9fOlOkp7ZjFe-dR6k4B5n6OQl8aNp4nP8CDhVe4lbHVGF8jvk5oykB0/s1600/JTB.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfmdk26oTQQl_vWlfBbb3FW-TeUEEBvo5wtmXM37OKDpuDkSWlNwUvfNj8VJfns23IpG7PPmd8OHsAwqDVXX3fx9fOlOkp7ZjFe-dR6k4B5n6OQl8aNp4nP8CDhVe4lbHVGF8jvk5oykB0/s1600/JTB.gif" /></a></div>
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by J. T. Bean<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br />
Silence grips the battlefield, the air thick with
anticipation. Each man’s heart beats nervously as the clanking of armor and
cold sharpened steel are the only sounds to be heard. The smell of smoke from
the burning embers of early morning campfires drifts like a ghost through the
ranks. The opposing forces stare menacingly from separate horizons across a
great valley. The palpable presence of fear is suppressed as adrenaline begins
to course through each man’s veins. Every soldier’s mind is burdened with the
knowledge that death may be their fate. Even so, they prepare to fight. Suddenly,
the general shouts a command. Trumpets blare. Feet and hooves begin to gallop
forward. The battle has begun.</div>
<o:p></o:p><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmQgObzLV593ywN6qr86Psm4cHQpGDhq_t57_ppm9c3kmCh5zNQeLuS9B5NtyLF6bFI-uLWjvylwVrV8qm2GLQy5EdrCbjk76qEkvRdNNsN9Xy9VhWkBFlhWcuV5QiA8wA_2PO5W6wHZ5H/s1600/medieval-battle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmQgObzLV593ywN6qr86Psm4cHQpGDhq_t57_ppm9c3kmCh5zNQeLuS9B5NtyLF6bFI-uLWjvylwVrV8qm2GLQy5EdrCbjk76qEkvRdNNsN9Xy9VhWkBFlhWcuV5QiA8wA_2PO5W6wHZ5H/s1600/medieval-battle.jpg" height="150" width="200" /></a>Moments later the armed forces meet violently in the center
of the valley. Swords shimmer in the sunlight. Shields rise to fend off attack.
The shouts of men in battle echo across the gorge. Some are bellows of great
exertion as those who initiate an assault. Others are cries of terror wherever
a foe has landed a crushing blow. Blood begins to spill. The pristine emerald
foliage of the landscape is slowly dyed scarlet. Within minutes, the battle is
over and the victor emerges from the scrum. The look of dreadful relief is
evident on their faces. They have faced their fears, fought the enemy, and
survived to tell the tale….<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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As you can tell, some of my favorite movies are war epics
such as <i>Braveheart</i>, <i>Gladiator</i>, and <i>Saving Private Ryan</i>. These recent
battle-scarred films have more vividly portrayed the brutality of war than
Hollywood’s antiseptic versions of the past. When you see such a rough
treatment of war on screen, where you can almost feel the intensity of
violence, and hear the bullets whizzing overhead, it gives you a new
appreciation for the bravery of real-life soldiers who have stepped onto the
battlefield.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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This kind of courage is rare. But it is necessary whenever
you face a challenge in life. And whether the challenge is large or small, you
have to be willing to take a risk and step onto the battlefield. French author
André Gide is credited as saying: “A man cannot discover new oceans unless he
has the courage to lose sight of the shore.” Often we are paralyzed by fear and
do not venture out on a new journey, choosing rather to play it safe and keep
sight of the shoreline. But it’s beyond the horizon, out into the unknown
depths, that one finds adventure on the high seas. And if you never risk deep
water, you never learn to swim!<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Some people may assume that courage allows people to act fearlessly.
However, a courageous person may actually be very fearful. But what separates
them from cowards, is that the courageous forage ahead despite their fears. Courage
is that character quality that allows people to ignore their fear and step out
in faith anyway.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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When I think of courage versus cowardice, there is no more
striking example than the Old Testament story of Gideon. It is found
in the book of Judges, chapters six and seven. God had called Gideon to lead
Israel against their oppressor, the Midianite nation. Gideon was just a simple
farmer. Not a warrior. Not a leader. Just a humble man of faith.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Still, God used him to rally 22,000 men to fight against
their enemies from Midian. Unfortunately, most of these men were cowards. Given
the chance to go home and avoid the battle, over half of them abandoned the
cause and went back to the safety of their homes. Gideon announced to them: <i>“Anyone who
trembles with fear may turn back and leave.”</i> The Bible says that when offered
the opportunity to quit, of the initial 22,000 recruits, only ten thousand
remained. That means 12,000 chickened out. More than half of them were too
afraid or not committed to fighting. And I believe this is comparable to modern
day life.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Think about it, when faced with a difficult challenge, how
many people actually accept responsibility and work to overcome it? I’m sure
more than half would take the easy way out and avoid any conflict. Or, put
another way, if offered an opportunity to succeed how many people are not fully committed to the cause and walk away? Again, more than half for certain, would
pack up their bags and vanish. In both cases, fear overtakes the one who quits.
And those who fight and succeed—they are the risk takers—the ones who act
courageously.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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The truth is, more than half the population plays it safe.
Very few are willing to take risks. They would rather avoid failure than take a
risk. But sometimes, avoiding risk <i>is</i>
failure. Think about Gideon’s army. In the end, it was a small band of brothers—300 in all—who conquered Midian with God’s help. They experienced a
miraculous victory and became national heroes when their foreign invader was
finally vanquished. The rest of the original 22,000 missed out on the
opportunity of a lifetime. Instead of heroes, they were zeros! They missed out
because they let their doubts get the best of them. They did not commit to the
cause and wilted for fear of failure. Instead of taking a risk, they panicked,
took their toys and went home.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
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As difficult as it may be, the choice you make to achieve
what you want in life, is to <i>take a risk</i>. Be brave. Cultivate a warrior
spirit—the spirit of courage. Courage overcomes fear and is willing to
risk. And you will never know the joy of success without first risking failure
and courageously overcoming your fears.</div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
UMC Team 1http://www.blogger.com/profile/07440818096865345778noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6287452976073133727.post-31914435941817366442013-12-03T10:49:00.002-08:002013-12-03T10:49:43.808-08:00What Makes a "Bad Word" Bad?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="color: #f3f3f3; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">By Mark Montgomery<br /><br />Have you read that old western novel entitled the “Virginian?” Early in the story the Virginian is called a name. It is a name that often causes trouble. Instead, he smiles when he hears it. Why the smile? Because a friend had said the words, and was also smiling.<br /><br />Later in the book the Virginian is called the exact same name. But this time, not by a friend. So the Virginian pulls out his Colt revolver, lays it on a table and says, “Smile when you say that.” Everyone knows that trouble is just a heartbeat away.<br /><br />Same words. Different results. Somehow, bad words are not always easy to figure out.<br /><br />When preachers from my home church said the words, “Unless you have been saved you might go to hell,” it did not have the same effect as when a stranger said, “Go to hell.”<br /><br />Recently, while alone with my granddaughter, she started singing a song. When I asked about the song she became embarrassed. She said, “It is a song I really like, but it has a bad word in it.” Then after a period of silence she added, “But my daddy likes the song too.” Uh-oh.<br /><br />She was honestly wrestling with the question, “What makes a bad word bad? “ <br /><br />Is the word OK if it is in a popular song? Is it OK if my daddy likes the song? Is it OK for me to sing it with my friends at school but not in front of my grandfather in his shop? The word in question has already been established as a word our family does not use.<br /><br />This is a legitimate problem. She will eventually have to answer, “Should I listen to my parents when almost everyone else, from the Vice President on down, seems to think that profanity is just fine.”<br /><br />She better get used to the internal debate. For it gets more complex.<br /><br />Some words that were once common are now bad. Others don’t mean what they used to. Words that once were able to have some shock value are so common now as to be meaningless. Profanity is now considered “adult” language where it once was the childish refuge of the witless. What’s a little girl to do?<br /><br />I once played on a collegiate intra-mural basketball team that was quite successful. The team voted to name themselves the “Black Jews plus One.” I was the only Caucasian on the team. The name could have been worse. One of the original suggestions had been “Black Jews plus Whitey.” After forty years of making decisions about words, I don’t think any of us would pick that name today, (or been allowed to keep it by the university!) Maybe we should have known better back then. But in 1969 it felt funny, irreverent and rebellious. <br /><br />Incidentally, I told this story a few years ago and was soundly chastised by well meaning folks who said, “Black” should be “African-Americans.” Jews should not have been named, “Why are the Jews mentioned at all?” Etc. I could only reply, “It was funny at the time.” The debate over language never ended for me and will never end for my granddaughter. Or perhaps, for any of us.<br /><br />I believe that this eternal, internal, infernal debate is actually a very good thing.<br /><br />The New Testament letter from James warns us that, “The tongue also is a fire, a world of evil among the parts of the body. It corrupts the whole body, sets the whole course of one’s life on fire, and is itself set on fire by hell.”<br /><br />He goes on to add,”…but no human being can tame the tongue. It is a restless evil, full of deadly poison.<br /><br />These lines are a pretty good hint that the “word debate” never ended for James either. His tongue, which in later life praises God and invites folks to faith, is the same tongue that spoke out against Jesus and did not believe him. (John 7:3)<br /><br />James’ advice for the rest of us about this tongue tussle is this, “The wisdom that comes from heaven is first of all pure; then peace-loving, considerate, submissive, full of mercy and good fruit, impartial and sincere.” Now those are “good words.” <br /><br />So that is what I will tell my granddaughter. We are Christians. We use words to love, praise, help, pray, teach and sing. If a word or words do not feel right, stop and think. If what we are about to say passes James’ test, we can be certain that no word, of any age or meaning, takes control and uses us.</span>UMC Team 1http://www.blogger.com/profile/07440818096865345778noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6287452976073133727.post-37394519782799884342013-09-25T20:37:00.000-07:002013-09-26T06:21:01.128-07:00You Ask, "What's In A Name?"<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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By Blackie Blackwell<br />
(Guest Contributor)<br />
<br />
Imagine yourself in a multiplex movie theater. Curiously, no walls separate the half-dozen theaters that form the multiplex. Miraculously, you are watching six different screens all at once, thoroughly understanding and enjoying every scene, word, character.<br />
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</div>
<br />
Welcome to ADHD.<br />
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<br />
<b>You Ask, “What’s in a Name?”</b><br />
<br />
One of the eight original Blackwells – that wild East Coast family whose members buck the impossible – did the unthinkable.<br />
<br />
Blackwells die? gasp six ADHD screens in hushed unison. You’re – you’re wrong. You guys don’t. You can’t. Didn’t Jeff have ADHD? How could this happen?<br />
<br />
On July 15, 2000, my brother’s youngest daughter tells the family she cannot awaken daddy. Eldest brother Mike leaps stair steps three at a time to find Jeff motionless in his childhood bed, one arm resting on the other, hand gently cradling his head. The heart of “JB” peacefully, quietly, easily ceases its rhythms on the second night of a family-wide reunion missing only my twin sister and me.<br />
<br />
I leave behind my position as keynote speaker (to 400 youth campers and adult counselors in the California mountains) and rush back to New Jersey. Why didn’t I get to hold JB a final time? Punch him, hug him, tell him I will miss him desperately? What is life without Jeff? He and Mike are a team. A killer combo. The dynamic duo. They’re … they’re -<br />
<br />
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The Big Boys.<br />
<br />
Two dozen people cry hard in the front yard of our New Providence home. I join them, melting into Mike’s shuddering embrace. As comfort flows from the strength of his arms and the press of his chest, my screens speak up.<br />
<br />
Didn’t really lose Jeff, y’know. You’ve got Mike. They’re inseparable. Same formidable sports skills, handsome faces, charming personalities.<br />
<br />
One screen laughs. Yes, but ol’ Mikey never had JB’s incredible gift for …<br />
<br />
“New rules,” says Mom at dinner years earlier. “From now on, speak in your own voices.”<br />
<br />
Jeff perfectly mimics cartoon character Foghorn Leghorn, “Boy! I say, boy! Boy’s about as sharp as a bowlin’ ball!”<br />
<br />
“Jeffrey Roger Blackwell!!!”<br />
<br />
Quick Draw McGraw arrives next. “It’s OK, Baba-Looey. I’ll do the thin’in’ ’round here!”<br />
<br />
“Hey, Ran-ger Rick,” shouts top-hat-and-tie-wearing Yogi Bear, “I’ll just take that pic-a-nic basket. I’m smarter than the average bear!” Humble sidekick, Boo Boo, murmurs approval.<br />
<br />
Our dinner table explodes in an uninvited array of characters and personalities. Deputy Dawg, Snagglepuss, Huckleberry Hound – even nasally sportscaster Howard Cosell – all join the meal. Jeff and siblings unleash voices so fast, so well, Mom laughingly threatens to sell our TV and sits down, defeated.<br />
<br />
Ah, but back to the sadness in the yard. Mike will, in the days ahead, come alongside JB’s widow and help raise the children. Perhaps that is why, here and now, his voice breaks above me: “I miss JB bragging about his kids.”<br />
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Screen Six pipes up the loudest and seems to have the best question: How do you s’pose JB knew, even with his kids so young, the way they’d turn out?<br />
<br />
Jeff and I watch his extremely active trio playing in the sand by the lake. I ask him if he’s figured out their strengths and weaknesses.<br />
<br />
“That one,” he says and points, “is my hard-headed kid. Doesn’t wait for all the facts. Ever.” Sighs. “Can’t tell that child a thing once the mind’s made up. Always right – doesn’t need the details.” He shakes his head, laughs. “That could be – in the proper places – a really good thing. Very confident.”<br />
<br />
A second child walks up, hugs JB’s leg. “This is the soft one. Gotta watch my tone … the tears come so easily. Still, what a listener – and such compassion! Hope the world’s careful with this kid.”<br />
<br />
I point at the third, feverishly building a sand castle. “Omigosh,” JB exclaims, “everything’s a contest! Dad, I can do this in 10 seconds! Dad, let’s make that using half the wood. Dad!” A pause, then the voice shifts to admiring tones. “Imagine that competitive drive put into sports, or homework, or college?”<br />
<br />
Laura Beth, Eric and Alyssa form the beautiful legacy JB left for us to love.<br />
<br />
Man, did your brother call that, or what? You should tell him how well they –<br />
I do. All the time. “JB, you and Cher have a right to be proud. A handsome son. Two beautiful daughters. All three funny, bright, creative. We love them as our own. The Blackwell aunt and uncles are their greatest champions. ”<br />
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Still not sure how these stories tie in to a name change. Details, please …<br />
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I follow JB to Ohio University, where he is the dashing senior captain of the soccer team. Fast-running, hard-playing, quick-thinking Jeff is called “Blackie” by the other players, who marvel at his speed and talent.<br />
My arrival, far from eliciting remarks of wonder at sports ability, instead sparks confusion. “What do we call you?” the coach asks. Some forgotten genius says, “Well, he’s only a frosh. Call him Little Blackie.”<br />
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I, the smallest in the family, am alone in having never blossomed into a rugged six-foot frame. “Little Blackie” painfully underscores lack of height. But my new nickname puts me in JB’s classy category, so I eagerly grab that opportunity.<br />
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Our college season ends at the University of Toledo’s soccer stadium. For the first time ever, I share the playing field with “Big Blackie” in his last game ever. We nearly, but do not, combine for a goal. Then, much-admired Jeff graduates, I move to captain, and “Little” is chopped away. By me.<br />
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Across the years, the nickname “Blackie” comes and goes. But it kicks in – finally, fully, forever – when Jeff’s heart calls it a life and JB leaves behind his family and many fans, weeping at his absence, laughing at his presence.<br />
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So, please, call me Blackie – even “Little Blackie,” if you must – because each time that name’s spoken, you give me back another moment with Jeff, the brother who stepped away too soon.<br />
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Postscript: On July 21st, 2000, my company’s computer system glitch is resolved. Among the many delayed e-mails sent my way, I miraculously find this July 7 message from the brother who’s been gone nearly a week:<br />
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I promise not to hurt your daughter while playing monkeyball at Copper Springs Swim Club. But you should wring the same promise from the other uncles and her cousins! … I have to go, dude, but have a great time on your next trek into the wilderness with 1000's of screaming kids....<br />
Love, JB<br />
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"I’m eternally grateful, 'Big Blackie,' for that one last hug through your prophetic e-mail. Not even death holds ADHD for long, eh? I love you."<br />
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UMC Team 1http://www.blogger.com/profile/07440818096865345778noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6287452976073133727.post-28291531083551511152013-09-02T19:09:00.000-07:002013-09-02T19:09:00.984-07:00Sorry Mustang: "No Soup For You!"<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">By Mike Kelley</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Ford Mustangs are one of my life’s top passions. Last year, I bought my third. But, I can’t just own them. I have to soup them up! Stripes, racing wheels, and performance mufflers are just a few of the projects that have captured my time and my dollars. I’d already had such modifications in mind for my latest Mustang (and yes, it’s already striped). That is, until Adleigh Grace arrived.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Adleigh Grace is our brand new baby girl. She was born March 26. She is a true joy, but also quite the education. (To say I’ve gained much wisdom is an understatement.) I now know what it is to love your own child. It really is indescribably unique. The kind of love that has me giving constantly of myself, without regret, but not without knowing the sacrifices involved.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">One such sacrifice is the amount of time I now spend driving the Mustang. I drive it less than I did before she was born. Now, I’m almost always driving the SUV instead. I never understood why so many Americans drive SUVs these days. Everywhere I look, it seems that people are driving trucks with four door crew cabs and SUVs almost exclusively. But with nearly everyone <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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having children at some time or another, including me, the reason has become crystal clear.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Car seats! Eureka. Much to my dismay, I’ve discovered it. Ohio law requires that children ride in car seats. For newborns, the carriers have to be rear-facing and, preferable, centered in the back seat. Let’s not even talk about how incredibly difficult it is to maneuver the huge car seat into our two-door car. The size, and our car’s “hump”, won’t allow it to be centered behind the Mustang’s front seats, so it must be locked into a rear bucket seat instead. But then you must move a front seat so far forward the person riding there kisses the windshield! The compromise is neither safe nor comfortable. I say, forget it.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">That’s right. I just forget it. I don’t even bother to drive the Mustang much anymore. Life has changed, and with that change come sacrifices. Sacrifices I choose to make because I love my daughter I give up my mustang because I love her. I can’t begin to imagine it being the other way around. Giving up my child because I so love the Mustang. That’s ridiculous. In fact, I can’t for a moment think of anything or anyone I would give her up for. If there were such a thing or such a person, the love required to get me to give Adleigh up would have to be a love so strong I can’t comprehend it.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But that is exactly what God did for us. In John 3:16 it is Jesus himself who speaks one of the Holy Bible’s most well recognized truths when he says, <i>“For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life”</i>. Now that I am a father, I can better understand the depths of that sacrifice, and the power in God’s love for us. For, without a love so incomprehensible and so supernatural, we could never see Heaven. Thanks to God’s special love, someday we can.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But for now, my passion for Mustangs is turning toward a calling for a crew cab truck. I can’t wait to get one, so I can soup it up. Add a lift kit, racing wheels, and performance mufflers. All that followed by the most important modification of all. I can add that huge car seat, and Adleigh Grace. Ah! Now that’s what daddy calls a little taste of heaven.</span></div>
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UMC Team 1http://www.blogger.com/profile/07440818096865345778noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6287452976073133727.post-7126489622284048212013-07-22T07:06:00.005-07:002013-07-22T16:30:18.378-07:00"How Much More?"<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="color: #f3f3f3; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">By Kyle Kleeberger<br /><br />Sitting alone on the bank of Eastern Honduras’ Patuca River, I was lost in thought.<br /><br />How much more beautiful would life be for the Tawahka tribe if they didn’t worry whether their next drink of water would lead to disease and, quite possibly, death?<br /><br />“How much more?”<br /><br />This burning question inspired me to launch an adventure of learning! </span><span style="color: #f3f3f3; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Working with the non-</span><br />
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<span style="color: #f3f3f3; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">profit organization Broken and Poured Missions Inc., maintaining the posture of students rather than teachers, young Honduranian Exse and I were sent to research where our first “clean water” initiative might be sited. After a long flight to Tegucigalpa, Honduras’ capital city, and two other shorter flights in smaller, adrenaline-pumping 6 passenger planes we landed safely on a grass airstrip in the middle of </span><span style="color: #f3f3f3; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Exactly where we wanted to be.<br /></span><br />
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<span style="color: #f3f3f3; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We loaded our trip packs and food into the pipante (a canoe-like craft carved from a tree), its ancient 60-horsepower motor slowly taking us toward Krautara, one of the Tawahkas’ seven jungle villages. Our prayerful hope was that the tribe– who had no idea we were coming– would be open to our living with them. For two full weeks, we would learn about their community, their surroundings, and what they thought made life meaningful to them.<br /><br />For safety purposes, we picked up a neighboring tribe’s dentist on our way upriver. For this area is a hub for drug trafficking from South America to the states. We introduced ourselves as a dental team. Several dental clinics later where we gave many shots, and pulled many rotted and aching teeth the Tawahka people were grateful! Yet some remained skeptical of the tall white man who slept in the school house.<br /><br />That skepticism eventually faded after two weeks of working alongside them in their homes and fields, of sharing many conversations and meals.<br /><br />They turned out to be some of the most hospitable people I’d ever met.<br /><br />They gave me the few material things they did have, providing shelter, a bed, food, and water (For bathing only!). It wasn’t much, but they didn’t have much. Upon my departure there were tears and long embraces looking forward to the next time we’d see each other.<br /><br />I saw Jesus in them. It’s as if Jesus had already shown up and taught them how to love and treat people. Their lives were simple, beautiful and I desired to be more like them. They were content with very little, with rice and beans every meal. What a surprise it was to me that their lives had so much joy despite their lack of “stuff”!<br /><br />That morning as I prayed alongside the muddy Patuca River, I asked that He’d allow me to bring clarity to the Tawahkas’ water source. I never imagined that the tribe would bring clarity to my faith, my call, and my pursuit of our Creator. This unexpected reversal has altered my prayer:<br /><br />“How much more beautiful would life be if our world took time to learn from people like the Tawahkas?”</span></div>
UMC Team 1http://www.blogger.com/profile/07440818096865345778noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6287452976073133727.post-74198660241050589152013-03-31T15:56:00.000-07:002013-03-31T16:05:02.438-07:00A Life-Changing Experience<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">By Frank T. Alcorn (Guest Contributor)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />Has a single unexpected incident--one that sucker-punched you in the stomach and forever-redefined "normalcy"--ever profoundly changed your life?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">On February 23rd, a Saturday, at 7:45 p.m., I experienced such an event.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">If you are squeamish, I suggest you read the following with only one eye. I touched the edge of my table saw blade while it was engaged. The tip of my left thumb looks like the ground chuck section of Kroger’s meat counter. What was I thinking? Thinking! Who was thinking?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This is the event that defined my new normal. Within 12 hours, I was devastated to find:</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">• I could not remove the top of nor squeeze the toothpaste tube with my left hand</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">• I had difficulty putting on my left sock</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">• I could not tie up my pony tail</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">• But the final straw was that I could not open a sealed plastic bag of shredded cheese to add to my morning omelet.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I cried aloud, shaking my good fist at Fate, for this calamity.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The dark cloud of melancholy hovered above me, boiling like a vat of liquid charcoal. As I clung to the tiniest thread at the tip-end of life’s long rope, a golden aura fringed that ominous cloud and symphonic music filled the room. You may have heard of the old “silver lining” myth, but take my word for it, gold is the color and it was the birth of a spectacular idea.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Despite my physical deficiency (mental deficiency is already well-established), I feverishly outlined the idea before my delirium passed. The drum roll you hear in the back of your mind is not imagined; it is the precursor to the idea. I have formed an activist group representing accident-prone woodworkers such as myself. Thus far, our members are all males. While there are many fine female woodworkers, we have yet to find one stupid enough to touch a whirring saw blade rotating at six gazillion rpm.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The group is the Society for the Protection of Unintelligent Thumbcutting Underbrained Men. We go by the catchy acronym of “SPUTUM”. Our motto is, “Combine our IQ’s and it won’t amount to a spit in the ocean”.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Need more information? Contact us at www.sputum.dumb/xz!argh.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">If you qualify, you would be well served to join. Our inaugural meeting was wondrous to behold. What had been an austere union hall was now tastefully appointed in colorful streamers and sparkly confetti with helium filled balloons tap-dancing along the ceiling. The room overflowed with men of the brotherhood, respectfully waiting the entrance of the Chairman.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Silence prevailed, yet the excited heartbeats of the faithful resonated throughout the room as though a base drum were beating rhythmically. Without fanfare, cheerleaders standing statuesquely against the walls pirouetted onto the floor to lead us in a rousing cheer:</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> SPUTUM, SPUTUM, is our cry.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> V – I – C – T – O – R – Y.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Are we with it?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Yes you bet.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> SPUTUM, SPUTUM,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> We’re all wet.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I still feel the electricity of the moment. Each man quietly returned to his inner self. One by one, they arose to thrust a thumb - or stub - toward the heavens to recite the SPUTUM Pledge:</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“I (mumble your name), formerly being of sound mind do hereby pledge to make it my life’s mission to honor the bureaucracy and society which enables me to blame others for my own failings. Plaaay ball!”</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Hush overtook the hall anew as the Chairman approached the podium, his eyes solemnly downcast. He softly cleared his throat, visually embracing the sea of grateful faces and proclaimed, “There being no further business, I declare this gathering adjourned.” The recall of such power, insight, and eloquence, even now, produces a grapefruit-sized lump in my throat.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Life just gets rosier from here. As you know, the federal government monitors activist groups and seeing merit in our cause, moved with expediency to bring about relief to this huge voting constituency. A bi-partisan bill passed, without dissent, directing the House Ways and Means Committee to allocate $100,000,000 to provide an answer to why seemingly stable individuals touch moving saw blades. A “Special Investigator” is appointed to leave no stone unturned in finding where the fault really lies. Early suspects include the Power Tool industry and magazines specializing in woodworking articles.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Some decry this as early rush to judgment. While those in authority agree (off the record), nonetheless, these are the heads pre-selected to roll. And roll they will, like Tina Turner performing Proud Mary.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My Congressman acknowledged all of this to be good and proper but made an impassioned plea from the floor of Congress, demanding emergency and immediate relief for the brotherhood. Modesty and a non-disclosure clause dictate that I not mention numbers, but my monthly stipend exceeds five figures in perpetuity and, in return, my Congressman expects re-election in perpetuity.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Were all of this not good enough, I save the best news for last. Hollywood has bought the rights to my life story and will soon begin production. Tom Cruise waived his customary salary just to have the chance to portray me. He says the challenge of bringing to the silver screen the depth of emotion, physical strength, and courage I have displayed throughout this ordeal, except for the short time that I cried like a baby, will be career changing. The screenwriters have promised that their version of my tears clearly will reflect that walnut dust had blown into my eyes, and I was bravely blinking away the caustic irritant.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">These screenwriters are ok, but I requested Bill Shakespeare, Sammy T. Coleridge, and Ed Alan Poe be hired to ghostwrite my story. I have been advised they may be deceased. Clearly, the Hollywood crowd does not understand the concept of ghostwriting. However, I believe them to be alive and well and performing as a country group in Peoria.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The entire “A” list of Hollywood’s who’s who is lined up for the possibility of landing even a cameo role. My friend, Mark, whose project lies dormant in my workshop, the victim of an Occupational Safety and Health Agency (OSHA) lockdown, a parallel to the horse-and-barn-door story, is to be played by Brad Pitt. As an aside, the accuracy of this casting is uncanny. The Supreme Court, or maybe it is the Supremes, will portray the ministry team, with the sole exception of Blackie. Frodo, not the actor, the real one, has been awarded that plum. Did I not say this casting was uncanny?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Oscar buzz has this film scoring big in all categories on the night Hollywood honors itself. An old Dean Martin classic has been reworked for our film and is a lock for the best song Oscar – “Everybuddy loves thumbuddy thumbtime.”</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Life is good again. Dumb pays dividends and stupid is as stupid does. Except that pain and exhaustion overtakes me, I am confident I could dredge up at least a half dozen other platitudes and trite phrases.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I leave you with two observations, these expressed by the best of America’s thought leaders. The first is contemporary and attributed to the man who in a controlled and systematic way is presiding over the disintegration of Chicago, – “You can’t let a good tragedy go to waste.” The second and no doubt music to your visual ears is from my lifelong idol, Porky the Pig - “Ba-dee-ah, ba-dee-ah, be-dee-ah, th-th-that’s All Folks!”</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But since I can’t help myself, I leave you with a third observation requiring a whole new story for which I show you the mercy of not recounting. If you decide to turn to a life of crime, the removal of a thumbprint could prove useful. I understand authorities are mystified by the unusual thumbprint left at the scene of several recent crimes. For this I make no admissions.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Remember Kids, don’t ever touch a moving saw blade; leave that to the professionals.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In the late 1940’s, when television was in its infancy, Milton Berle reigned as Mr. Television. A favorite expression was “All seriousness aside folks …….”. All that precedes this next paragraph is my “All seriousness aside folks”.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I have had a life changing experience – a real old school one. On my knees in the sawdust, at the urging of the Holy Spirit, my life was not just changed and not just transformed, it was made new and about that, I am quite serious and most thankful.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Frank T. Alcorn</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">(The “T” formerly stood for Thomas but is legally changed to Thumbcutter)</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">3/27/13</span>UMC Team 1http://www.blogger.com/profile/07440818096865345778noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6287452976073133727.post-65874944952309016422013-02-27T08:05:00.000-08:002013-02-27T08:13:09.310-08:00I Have Four Daughters<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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By Travis Montgomery<br />
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“You are going to die.”<br />
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The words being said to me do not come from physicians and medical experts. The words come from acquaintances who have just heard me say, “I have four daughters.<br />
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Were you standing beside me, you would see these friends burst forth in a deep, almost maniacal, sort of laugh, then emit a lung-emptying “Oh!” But I quickly learned that such a single-syllable utterance loosely translates, “You are going to die. And it will be your daughters who are the death of you.”<br />
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I try to assure these naysayers I’m proud to have fathered four girls. They will not listen.<br />
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“Travis, why would you do that? Were you trying for a boy? Do you have any idea what you’re in for? Wait until junior high. No, wait until high school. Worse, wait until college! Do you know how expensive weddings are?”<br />
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Why do others’ minds transform my beautiful children into an unstoppable rebel force, one bent on banishing peace and robbing me of fatherhood’s joys? It’s clear to me the listeners expect my four to display daily drama, wield womanly wiles, and wreak relentless ruin.<br />
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Despite the prevalence of that thinking, I don’t believe it. Never have. Never will.<br />
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My wife, Carol, and I are confident about our daughters’ futures despite the power of a culture that would teach them empty values: image over character, hedonism over relationship, and entertainment over knowledge. No, there aren’t magic pills that I force my daughters take to eliminate the potential of any future error or damaging decision that they could make. The enticement and ease of such and existence is in stark contrast to a challenge-filled life of a girl who knows who she is and what she’s about.<br />
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There are, however, four primary pillars my wife Carol and I have built into our child-rearing process. These pillars provide a faith-filled hope that our girls will become something other than the simple-minded product of an overwhelming cultural presence. The enticement and ease of such an existence is in stark contrast to the life of a girl understanding who she is and what she’s about.<br />
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The four pillars comprise we call our Family Legacy. That legacy is a set of stories, traditions, or beliefs associated with a particular group; or the history of an event, one which arises naturally or is deliberately fostered.<br />
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We do not create “lies to live by” in order to produce the results we want. Our daughters soon would discover the lies, which would shatter our integrity as parents and ultimately produce the very rebellion we sought to avoid.<br />
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Truth, instead, creates the foundation of our family legacy.<br />
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<li>We believe our daughters are created in the image of God. Inherent in that image are (among other virtues and characteristics) true beauty, strength of character, the ability to reason, an understanding of eternal significance, and hope for the future. This is the understood end result of who we expect our daughters to become. </li>
<li>We highlight stories of our family’s history that illustrate our identity as a family and demonstrate the substance of which our children are made. Children are told from birth, “You look like your mother.” Or, “You act like your father.” Science lessons about DNA further reinforce that children are “a chip off the ol’ block.” Our daughters need to believe that who they are, and what they’re made of, can produce the desired results. Such beliefs may be as simple and self-affirming as, “I can be courageous because my father is courageous. I can be beautiful because my mother is beautiful. I can be brilliant because my grandfather is brilliant. It is in me. It’s part of my history. It’s the basis of who I am.” </li>
<li>We create family traditions to help our children acknowledge and confirm they are made of the same substance as the family members before them and are an extension of that history. Brianna, our oldest daughter at 8, fired a rifle this year under careful tutelage. She, Abigail at 6 and McKenzie at 4 slept in the forest without a tent… in December. My two oldest daughters ride 50cc motocross bikes. Don’t tell them they aren’t strong. They won’t believe it. The strength of their history is put to the test in them so they may confirm, “Yes. This is who I am.” </li>
<li>We ultimately expect our children to succeed and they expect to succeed because of it. Along the way they may fail, but failure will not be the end result. It simply will be an obstacle to be overcome in order to succeed. </li>
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Even as I write this, I sense there will be parents who read this and say, “Yea, right! Wait until the girls get older. Let’s see what happens when they discover boys. I’ll bet things will go wrong when…"<br />
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Such folks will list the potential challenges that my daughters could face, then dismiss our system. What they don’t realize is that they’ve created a legacy of their own… a legacy of failure that states, “This is who you are until you’re challenged.” Their children will reflect and confirm that grievous mythology.<br />
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Am I being unreal? I understand it’s unlikely our daughters will make the right decision every time. I do not expect every outcome will be favorable. Yet, I’m willing to bet on who they will, in the end, become. Why?<br />
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Because this is precisely who God created them to be. As they understand what they came from (familywise), and Who crested them, they will confirm that in themselves and never let it go.</div>
UMC Team 1http://www.blogger.com/profile/07440818096865345778noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6287452976073133727.post-17634413544043639102013-01-31T09:28:00.003-08:002013-01-31T09:28:18.910-08:00Special Kids<br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">By Scott Carman</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I read the following statement and wonder whether it broke the very heart of God:</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Ninety percent of ‘special needs’ families do not attend church.”</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Sadder still, they do not attend because they’ve had unsettling reactions from congregations.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As the parent of a special needs child, a dad who treasures both his daughter Alexys and his Father God, I shake my head at that appalling statistic. In His own churches, we’re not following in the caution Jesus issued in Matthew 18:10: </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i>“Beware that you don’t look down on any of these little ones. For I tell you that in Heaven their angels are always in the presence of my heavenly Father.”</i> [NIV]</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">If acceptance is not found in His gathering of believers, to whom do we turn for help, hugs, hope?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Taking well-adjusted children to church is a challenge in itself. We ask a great of deal of them in expecting they’ll sit quietly and behave for more than an hour. But such children understand disciplinary measures follow misbehaviors. Many demonstrate abilities that bring them through the “endless” service or they are rescued by the youth services churches offer.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Most special needs children, however, have neither the gift of associating discipline with the moment’s troubles nor the coping skills to settle down and ride out the storm.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I know this storm all too well. My daughter has been diagnosed with <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/PDD-NOS">PDD-NOS</a>, a form of autism. She is a blessing that brightens our home with laughter and joy. She also brings new challenges.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Everyday encounters in public places that once were easy, can now be a struggle. Noises. Smells. Lighting. Crowds. Doors that open themselves. These can all send a special needs child into a ‘meltdown.’ To add to the frustration the air thickens with comments communicated by onlookers: “That child needs discipline.” The silent ones speak through body postures and eye movements. We “hear” you. Yes, it would be reasonable--fabulous, really--to leave this untamed spirit at home and accomplish twice the errands in half the time. But that doesn’t work in our situation because Dad’s at work, or Mom’s the trusted guardian, or timing insists we stop now for milk.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So we blush in embarrassment, flame in anger, boil in our condemnation. At times we pray our way through the judgments because we walk through a lost world that shouts “tolerance” for immoral behavior but carries no such love for “different” kids.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It will be better at church, we sigh to ourselves. There we will find souls willing to peer past exteriors- the way God cautioned the prophet Samuel to disregard the outward appearance of David’s brothers--and see the heart for which Christ gave his life.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Yet it is not better. Week after week, only 10 percent of us dare brave the rejection.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Should we not expect more from our church?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The same struggles that we face in those public places, our special kids face in our church. The group of people gathering just inside the doorway as you walk in. Ushers hand you bulletins. The volume of all those people greeting one another, hugging laughing and carrying on conversation is an avalanche of sight and sound. Add to that the lighting changes, music playing, candles burning, stained glass shimmering.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">For a sensory sensitive child, church can be overwhelming.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Through Facebook, my wife belongs to several support groups for parents of special needs children. With two friends she’s met, Jeanette has created a <a href="https://www.facebook.com/HelpfulLinksForAutismAndSensoryProcessingDisorder">web page</a> permitting families worldwide to share their stories, strategies, blessings, tears and so much more. These people have become friends, confidants, family. Jeanette often says that this journey would not be possible without them.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Wading through a virtual alphabet soup of neurological and behavioral conditions, the readers and writers hold one another tightly and look to the heavenly Father for strength in tending the youngsters He’s granted.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Jeanette and I decided to approach these parents with questions regarding their family and church experience. Questions like: “Do you go to church?” “Have you experienced struggles there?” “Is your church accepting of your children?”</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We asked that all the answers be honest. Soon after we wondered if we were ready for the answers we may receive? We had no idea what to expect. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The response was amazing. Most of those who attend church regularly have had a wonderful experience. Their churches accepted their children and loved them. I was thankful to hear this.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Some families struggled with “looks”, inappropriate comments or lack of acceptance. One family was actually asked to leave. Another person shared that some in her church accepted her child and others did not. She thought maybe a lack of education about her child’s condition may have scared them.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">For some families just the thought of going to church is too intimidating. One shared that they watch a church service online at home where the child is comfortable. I can relate to some of these struggles. I can relate to both sides. The fundamental question is: Should a bad experience keep these families from worshipping the Lord?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My daughter Alexys loves attending church. That does not mean we don’t go through any given church service without struggles. </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I give the credit for my daughter’s love of church partially to my churches. They have been wonderful. I am proud of them.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Jeanette herself has shared a story of a peaceful church service gone wildly wrong in mere moments. The result of a simple tap on my daughters shoulder during a sermon caused her to go into a meltdown. She started screaming “mommy hit me” over and over again. I quickly took her outside to calm her. Our church did not react. As we walked back in, Pastor Mark smiled at Lexy and with a soothing voice welcomed her back. Both the congregation and the Pastor reduced the trauma for her.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Jeanette was devastated. People had heard Alexys yell “mommy hit me.” Jeanette never wanted to return to that church again. Thankfully, as Jeanette realized that everyone understood she was able to move past it. We never heard any comments or received any looks. What we did hear was support and affection.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I do not judge those who make the comments or give the looks. I pray through awareness they will change. But I have a confession to make. Not that many years ago, I was the judgmental onlooker, quietly steaming as a family allowed their “spoiled child” to run wild through a Ford dealership where I worked as a salesman.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Shortly after I was told the child was autistic. “I could NEVER raise an autistic child.” I harrumphed to another salesman. “No way.”</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Then God blesses me with Alexys and I discover how little I know of life and love.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The challenge to educate belongs to all of us. We must start with ourselves. Read up on special needs children--the internet is a wealth of information. Approach parents and ask how better to interact with their sons and daughters. Better yet, spend time with such youngsters directly. I imagine how Jesus would play with an autistic or special child. Join the fun. Welcome the brave families who do come to your church and defend them against those who speak ill.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But above all, practice daily the attitude of John 13:35, which says simply and gently, <i>“Your love for one another will prove to the world you are my disciples.” </i>Show others the unconditional acceptance of all His children and you will win many to his side…including that once forgotten 90 percent.</span><br />
UMC Team 1http://www.blogger.com/profile/07440818096865345778noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6287452976073133727.post-35594169009326604612013-01-21T14:27:00.004-08:002013-01-22T16:56:59.001-08:00Sticker Shock<div>
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By Rev. Mark Montgomery</div>
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Christmas morning, my four year old granddaughter and I were playing. She pulled out a box of stickers, carefully selecting a flower for herself, a kitten for her sister and a butterfly for me. Making it clear the butterfly had to be placed in just the right spot on my left shoulder, she took her time positioning it, stepped back and nodded in satisfaction.</div>
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Then she looked at her sticker and said, “I am a flower.”</div>
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So I pointed to my sticker and asked, “Does this mean that I am a butterfly now?”</div>
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She remained silent a long while. Looking at her flower, then me, then my butterfly, she finally answered, “No. You are not a butterfly. You are still old.”</div>
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A precious, humbling, honest moment.</div>
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This beautiful little girl saw absolutely no problem with the idea that she could be a flower. That comparison did not violate her concepts, definitions or the balance of the universe! Her sister could easily be a kitten. No problem there either. But some definitions can be pushed only so far. To my granddaughter, butterflies are never old. Butterflies are young, vibrant, captivating, and lively. They are colorful ballet stars dancing on the stage of summer breezes.</div>
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To my great and everlasting joy, some things my granddaughter believes I can be are quite wonderful, like a Christmas morning playmate. But for me to be a butterfly? Even the creative imagination of a four-year-old could not push the conceptual boundaries to that point.</div>
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With a bow to her wisdom, I surrender my butterfly sticker. Perhaps now, it is my turn to define a concept for her.</div>
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There is a word that means a great deal to me. It is easily defined. But so often when I hear people speak it, their descriptions have nothing to do with the concept my mind pictures. Maybe my concept needs to be re-worked. If so many folks laugh at what I “see”, then maybe I have gone too far.</div>
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The word is “married.”</div>
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For me, being married is like watching a butterfly dance, beautiful, vibrant, lively, and captivating. It is a ballet of the heart on the stage of life’s warm breezes. When I say, “I am married,” feelings erupt from the fiery, joyous, volcanic core of who I am.</div>
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The marriage concept I picture is graceful but strong, mature yet playful. In that vivid imagery I stand under the arching branches of a life spent together with a woman I love. The scene changes as we age. Once gray, we sit on Cupid’s bench, resting in the shade of the memories that forged us.</div>
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Because of the strength of the woman beside me, I am stronger. Because of her faith, I walk closer to the throne of God. Because of her love, I am a proud father and grandfather. Because of her wisdom, I am less susceptible to the barbs of dark days.</div>
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That’s my concept. That’s what I see.</div>
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I feel out of step in a world where others say the word “married” as if it is a burden, a curse or the first line of a comedy routine.</div>
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It does not matter that the world will laugh at this corny old coot - a coot who pays attention to a child’s analysis. Let them define marriage any way they like. As they snicker, I and my wife will be here, on a wrought iron love seat, in the shade of our family tree, watching our granddaughters, “Flower and Kitty,” sprout and grow.</div>
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And someday, just maybe, when those little girls are women and the word “married” comes up in conversation, the pen of their imagination will dip into an inkwell of memory and draw Rebecca and me upon the canvas of their mind’s eye.</div>
UMC Team 1http://www.blogger.com/profile/07440818096865345778noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6287452976073133727.post-2626287845908611952012-12-21T06:52:00.006-08:002013-05-27T19:27:59.783-07:00Lessons from "The King's Speech"<div style="text-align: left;">
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By J. T. Bean<br />
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Each of us face challenges in life that have to potential to paralyze us with fear or keep us from being our best. Often the failures of our past speak loudest in our minds and we allow the messages of defeat to control us. It is in times of personal crisis and struggle when we need a friend to “walk through the valley” with us to see us through to the “other side” of the mountain we seek to overcome.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEqBg31ilYI62PwsMjlePWXvYACGoivock631pE-mKf6IJtluHfc6tVl-czgGb7buxee5aFtwRgFHH3RxlfTnOv6K4nH5g9YrLkDdmI-LeN8r9JEEN_a6IakxlFDDHg7DqirbDShzIbJaA/s1600/images.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEqBg31ilYI62PwsMjlePWXvYACGoivock631pE-mKf6IJtluHfc6tVl-czgGb7buxee5aFtwRgFHH3RxlfTnOv6K4nH5g9YrLkDdmI-LeN8r9JEEN_a6IakxlFDDHg7DqirbDShzIbJaA/s1600/images.jpg" width="134" /></a>Recently, our family watched the movie “The King’s Speech”. The film stars Colin Firth in the lead role as Great Britain’s Prince Albert the Duke of York, and later (after ascending to the throne) King George VI. The film is set in England in the late 1920’s and 30’s leading up to the impending British conflict with Nazi Germany and Adolph Hitler.</div>
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To summarize the plot, Prince Albert, realizes that public speaking and radio broadcasts are emerging as an important responsibility for the monarchy. This is a problem since he possesses a horrendous speech impediment. So he reluctantly employs the help of an unconventional speech therapist named Lionel Logue from Australia (played by Geoffrey Rush).</div>
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A friendship between the two men slowly develops despite Logue’s unorthodox methods and lack of a formal education. After the death of Albert's father, and his older brother’s abdication of his right to the throne, the weight of the entire Monarchy is suddenly thrust on his shoulders. He is shortly thereafter crowned King George VI of England. It is at this point where the tension in the film builds and the King’s relationship with his friend and therapist is tested. In the end, the friendship prevails and the King must prepare for a national speech to unite and inspire the British people as war with Germany breaks out.</div>
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What I loved about the film was the story of how a stammering British monarch overcame his fear and insecurity to help his nation rise up to meet the challenge of confronting the threat of war. History tells us that England at that time was weak. Prime Minister Chamberlain had routinely conceded to Germany’s demands in order to avoid getting involved in the war. But now when the conflict was unavoidable, the nation needed a strong leader to rally them together. Britain needed someone at that moment to help them find their “voice”--to realize who they were and what they stood for in a time of crisis.</div>
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Throughout the movie, Firth’s character displayed a remarkable perseverance in overcoming his speech problems. It was evident that Logue believed in him and consistently spurred him to triumph over his impediment. This was important because life growing up in the royal family was so lonely for Albert that when told by Logue “That’s what friends are for”, the King replied, “I wouldn’t know.” As sad and lonely as growing up a royal was, the King desperately needed a confidant that he could trust--someone who would challenge him, strengthen him, and lead him on a path of self-improvement.</div>
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The movie expertly portrayed a growing friendship between the two men. It reminded me of my own life and those who have stood by me in facing my challenges. How I have appreciated their support, prayers and encouragement. And in light of that, it has forced me to ask: Who am I taking under my wing and helping to find their “voice”? </div>
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Proverbs 17:7 says: <i>“A friend loves at all times, and a brother is born for a time of adversity.”</i> No doubt, the storms of life are more manageable with a friend by your side. And when there is a need for help and healing among friends or family, we should all prepare to be a loyal friend and lend a hand.</div>
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Every one of us has issues to confront and obstacles to overcome. It is almost impossible to face the challenges of life alone. We need others who will believe in us, give us the benefit of the doubt, and not give up on us. And each of us needs to look for others in need of support and encouragement. We all need to find our “voice” and assist others in doing the same.</div>
UMC Team 1http://www.blogger.com/profile/07440818096865345778noreply@blogger.com0