Visit this website:
http://www.prisoneralert.com/
It is here that you can take part in serving our brothers and sisters in chains. Write letters of encouragement that will be sent to the imprisoned. Write letters to the government officials pleading to release them. Most importantly, pray for them.
Three people are highlighted each month.
Click on the link above and find out about Gao, Gulsher, and Sandul.
Thursday, May 21, 2009
White Martyrdom
The threat of which our brothers and sisters in chains face each day for the sake of Christ. These believers praise Jesus from behind prison bars, from under the harsh persecution of officials, from the abandonment of blood relatives. They praise Him with swollen feet that carry the Gospel to remote towns, with frail and depraved bodies just released from merciless captivity, with scars relating stories too gruesome to be told. The praise on their lips is the very nourishment that sustains their wounded bodies and spirits. They are under attack.
American Christians are also under attack. We do not have to endure physical persecution or the threat of imprisonment and death, but we are daily faced with the decision to lay aside our weak flesh and follow Christ no matter what the cost.
A sensual scene, a licentious lyric, a tasteful treat. I've given in to temptation.
A knowing glance, a warm touch, a binding word. My thoughts run away with me.
An escape, an addiction, a crutch. I'm looking everywhere for freedom.
They may be bound in chains, but they are free in Christ. We are free to roam, but we are bound by the selfishness and greed that sustains our country. It's not about changing the system; it's about changing our hearts.
Whether it costs us our blood or our manner of living, we will surrender all.
White or red, we will be martyrs if we endure.
All riches and honor and glory to Jesus, the Blessed Redeemer.
American Christians are also under attack. We do not have to endure physical persecution or the threat of imprisonment and death, but we are daily faced with the decision to lay aside our weak flesh and follow Christ no matter what the cost.
A sensual scene, a licentious lyric, a tasteful treat. I've given in to temptation.
A knowing glance, a warm touch, a binding word. My thoughts run away with me.
An escape, an addiction, a crutch. I'm looking everywhere for freedom.
They may be bound in chains, but they are free in Christ. We are free to roam, but we are bound by the selfishness and greed that sustains our country. It's not about changing the system; it's about changing our hearts.
Whether it costs us our blood or our manner of living, we will surrender all.
White or red, we will be martyrs if we endure.
All riches and honor and glory to Jesus, the Blessed Redeemer.
Thursday, May 7, 2009
Persevering through the pain
As of tonight, flossing is my new habit. I have been flossing now for about 5 months, ignited by a particularly painful visit to the dentist. At first, my newfound discipline was painful. My gums would bleed every time I flossed for at least the first two weeks. If this is supposed to be so good for me, why does it hurt so much? I often thought. But, standing in front of the mirror each night, gingerly flossing my softened gums, I was reminded of my conviction after the last dentist visit and I pressed on. Initially, my motivation was to avoid pain during my next visit and to avoid the familiar scolding from the dentist. Superficial motives, but they have sufficed for the past few months. It was only tonight that my motivation rooted itself deeper than self-love and human affirmation. I realized that after my next dentist visit, I would again be faced with the decision to continue flossing because my previous motivation would have been satisfied. Would the same motivation be as effective the second time? and the third? and the fourth? I would have to develop a more solid rationale for flossing if I expected this habit to remain. It came to me tonight as I was standing in front of the mirror, nonchalantly flossing my seasoned gums, that I will continue flossing because I want to be a good steward of the healthy teeth I have been given. There we go. That will do.
Had I decided not to continue flossing, it would eventually take a toll on my body. So, one may argue, why put myself through the pain in the first place if my teeth will eventually rot out of my mouth. Why prematurely enforce pain in my body which wouldn't otherwise have been there to achieve some long term, out of sight benefit?
It is time. It is time to stop making excuses. It is time to stop skirting pain. It is time to stop rationalizing. It is time to stop falling into old habits. The hurt may linger and try to convince me otherwise. In these times, brothers and sisters, keep me from falling again. Sure, my motivation may be childish now - obey a will not my own, a command in contradiction with my heart - but soon I will be feeding on solid food, my character strengthened and my testimony a guidance to others. Sure, it may be painful now, but it will pass and the dough kneaded firmly will rise higher than the weakly kneaded.
It is time to make new habits.
It is time to believe that "all discipline for the moment seems not to be joyful, but sorrowful; yet to those who have been trained by it, afterwards it yields the peaceful fruit of righteousness." (Hebrews 12:11)
Had I decided not to continue flossing, it would eventually take a toll on my body. So, one may argue, why put myself through the pain in the first place if my teeth will eventually rot out of my mouth. Why prematurely enforce pain in my body which wouldn't otherwise have been there to achieve some long term, out of sight benefit?
It is time. It is time to stop making excuses. It is time to stop skirting pain. It is time to stop rationalizing. It is time to stop falling into old habits. The hurt may linger and try to convince me otherwise. In these times, brothers and sisters, keep me from falling again. Sure, my motivation may be childish now - obey a will not my own, a command in contradiction with my heart - but soon I will be feeding on solid food, my character strengthened and my testimony a guidance to others. Sure, it may be painful now, but it will pass and the dough kneaded firmly will rise higher than the weakly kneaded.
It is time to make new habits.
It is time to believe that "all discipline for the moment seems not to be joyful, but sorrowful; yet to those who have been trained by it, afterwards it yields the peaceful fruit of righteousness." (Hebrews 12:11)
Friday, April 3, 2009
Escaped but still imprisoned
People say that knowledge is power, that it can set you free.
In the third grade, my mom sewed together a butterfly costume for me to wear to the annual halloween party at our neighborhood community building. Being the shy and insecure lil' thing that I was, I put it on and sheepishly walked down the steps into the recreation hall, my eyes quickly darting from girl to boy to see how my costume measured up. We circled around the hall like a merry-go-round, waving to friends and family as we passed. Meanwhile, the judges marked down their votes for the awards. There would be "The Prettiest," "The Most Scary," "The Funniest," and others. I walked home that night with the "Most Original" award, feeling like I had gotten just what I deserved: a plain award for a plain, uninteresting girl. I did not know what the word "original" meant. Honestly, I thought it was a synonym for standard, run-of-the-mill.
I've changed a lot since then: I don't want to be like everyone else. So, I spend time thinking about how to cut my hair, how to write my name, how to do my makeup. I spend time thinking about what clothes to wear, what profession to choose, what blogs to post. I spend time thinking about what to write on my facebook status, what banner to put on my phone, what message to leave on my answering machine. I spend time thinking about how to decorate my room, how to reply to "how are you?", how to spend my time and money.
I spend time thinking about how not to think about these things. I do this all to receive one infamous title: "Most Original."
And, how original am I really? If what I truly seek all the while is the approval of others. Their acceptance. I want to fit in. Now, I'm back at square one.
So, I know what original means.
I still feel powerless.
In the third grade, my mom sewed together a butterfly costume for me to wear to the annual halloween party at our neighborhood community building. Being the shy and insecure lil' thing that I was, I put it on and sheepishly walked down the steps into the recreation hall, my eyes quickly darting from girl to boy to see how my costume measured up. We circled around the hall like a merry-go-round, waving to friends and family as we passed. Meanwhile, the judges marked down their votes for the awards. There would be "The Prettiest," "The Most Scary," "The Funniest," and others. I walked home that night with the "Most Original" award, feeling like I had gotten just what I deserved: a plain award for a plain, uninteresting girl. I did not know what the word "original" meant. Honestly, I thought it was a synonym for standard, run-of-the-mill.
I've changed a lot since then: I don't want to be like everyone else. So, I spend time thinking about how to cut my hair, how to write my name, how to do my makeup. I spend time thinking about what clothes to wear, what profession to choose, what blogs to post. I spend time thinking about what to write on my facebook status, what banner to put on my phone, what message to leave on my answering machine. I spend time thinking about how to decorate my room, how to reply to "how are you?", how to spend my time and money.
I spend time thinking about how not to think about these things. I do this all to receive one infamous title: "Most Original."
And, how original am I really? If what I truly seek all the while is the approval of others. Their acceptance. I want to fit in. Now, I'm back at square one.
So, I know what original means.
I still feel powerless.
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Glasses
I remember that when I was younger, I used to think it would be awful to have to wear glasses. It wasn't because I thought they looked strange. In fact, I was known to try on a pair or two just to evaluate the cosmetic effect. ( Nevermind the fact that it kills my eyes to look through prescription glasses.) No, it wasn't for appearance that I loathed the thought of wearing glasses, but rather the thought of admitting that one part of my body had failed.
I reluctantly admit that I battle perfectionist tendencies. Not that I believe that seeking perfection is a bad thing. Jesus is perfect, and I long to be like Him as all Christians do. It's the bit about being displeased with anything that is not perfect that I won't let pitch a tent in my mind. Jesus loves us, beings that are far from perfection. So, why should I fear imperfection?
Plenty of reasons: discontentment, boredom, loneliness, rejection, worthlessness.
All reasons that vanish in the light of the Gospel and are quickly replaced with "love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control" (Gal. 5:22) The blinding light of the Gospel is this: God loves me. I didn't do a single thing to earn it. I was dead and He gave me life. I was lost and now I'm found.
Suppose I DID need glasses, but I never knew. The world would have looked dull and blurred. But, I wouldn't have known the difference. And, I didn't. Until, I started to meet people who did. I met people who were sick but still had joy. I met people who admitted their own failures, awful things that they had done or thought or said, but didn't cower in fear of man or of death. I met people who were hungry, but smiled widely. Graciously, God did give me glasses: He gave me the Law.
I slipped them onto my eyes and saw the world as it really was. The sun shone brighter, blood appeared redder, mountains rose higher and valleys stooped lower. I looked at myself and found a tattered being: scratched, beaten, bruised, and dirty. I wanted to lay the glasses aside because it was too painful to see the world in disarray and to see myself as I truly am. But, there was something different about those who could see: they had peace and hope and unending joy.
They told me about a Doctor. He could heal me, they said. He had healed many others. But, did the operation actually work? Did this Doctor even exist? What if I didn't like what I saw?
I relented my fears. I abandoned my control. I accepted the help from the Doctor.
As I opened my eyes to see for the first time, I squinted and held my breath as I lowered my head to gaze again upon my own brokenness. But just then, my eyes burst open wide, my throat began to tighten, my eyes began to glisten. I was as good as new.
He handed me His card. "Tell others about Me," He said. He shone His face upon me and I walked lightly to the door. I looked down and flipped the card over. On the back, I slowly read the shining letters written in large handwriting: "Making all things new."
I reluctantly admit that I battle perfectionist tendencies. Not that I believe that seeking perfection is a bad thing. Jesus is perfect, and I long to be like Him as all Christians do. It's the bit about being displeased with anything that is not perfect that I won't let pitch a tent in my mind. Jesus loves us, beings that are far from perfection. So, why should I fear imperfection?
Plenty of reasons: discontentment, boredom, loneliness, rejection, worthlessness.
All reasons that vanish in the light of the Gospel and are quickly replaced with "love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control" (Gal. 5:22) The blinding light of the Gospel is this: God loves me. I didn't do a single thing to earn it. I was dead and He gave me life. I was lost and now I'm found.
Suppose I DID need glasses, but I never knew. The world would have looked dull and blurred. But, I wouldn't have known the difference. And, I didn't. Until, I started to meet people who did. I met people who were sick but still had joy. I met people who admitted their own failures, awful things that they had done or thought or said, but didn't cower in fear of man or of death. I met people who were hungry, but smiled widely. Graciously, God did give me glasses: He gave me the Law.
I slipped them onto my eyes and saw the world as it really was. The sun shone brighter, blood appeared redder, mountains rose higher and valleys stooped lower. I looked at myself and found a tattered being: scratched, beaten, bruised, and dirty. I wanted to lay the glasses aside because it was too painful to see the world in disarray and to see myself as I truly am. But, there was something different about those who could see: they had peace and hope and unending joy.
They told me about a Doctor. He could heal me, they said. He had healed many others. But, did the operation actually work? Did this Doctor even exist? What if I didn't like what I saw?
I relented my fears. I abandoned my control. I accepted the help from the Doctor.
As I opened my eyes to see for the first time, I squinted and held my breath as I lowered my head to gaze again upon my own brokenness. But just then, my eyes burst open wide, my throat began to tighten, my eyes began to glisten. I was as good as new.
He handed me His card. "Tell others about Me," He said. He shone His face upon me and I walked lightly to the door. I looked down and flipped the card over. On the back, I slowly read the shining letters written in large handwriting: "Making all things new."
Saturday, February 7, 2009
Sara (noun)
Say-ruh
1. an ear to hear your thoughts,
a mouth to ask the questions,
eyes wet with sympathetic tears,
a new self battling an old self,
a sponge soaked with teaching,
a box of paradoxes,
a cedar of lebanon waiting to be a stump;
full of dreams...
...like dancing, never missing a beat,
...enseñando el evangelio al mundo,
...swimming as effortlessly as the dolphins;
living in a body i didn't create,
a walking witness of His grace,
living, breathing, without want,
10 years old in the Kingdom,
and still choking on solid food,
learning to wait,
commanded to know nothing but Jesus and Him crucified,
from the enraged two's to the passive twenties,
waiting for your approval,
knowing only the One matters,
wanting the one thing i cannot have.
2. a human,
made to live forever,
invited into eternity,
to be a princess, not by law
but by a Gift that cannot be repaid
by His kindness,
being led to repentance. (Romans 2:4)
1. an ear to hear your thoughts,
a mouth to ask the questions,
eyes wet with sympathetic tears,
a new self battling an old self,
a sponge soaked with teaching,
a box of paradoxes,
a cedar of lebanon waiting to be a stump;
full of dreams...
...like dancing, never missing a beat,
...enseñando el evangelio al mundo,
...swimming as effortlessly as the dolphins;
living in a body i didn't create,
a walking witness of His grace,
living, breathing, without want,
10 years old in the Kingdom,
and still choking on solid food,
learning to wait,
commanded to know nothing but Jesus and Him crucified,
from the enraged two's to the passive twenties,
waiting for your approval,
knowing only the One matters,
wanting the one thing i cannot have.
2. a human,
made to live forever,
invited into eternity,
to be a princess, not by law
but by a Gift that cannot be repaid
by His kindness,
being led to repentance. (Romans 2:4)
Saturday, January 17, 2009
Escaping from the Big Fish
When did I stop believing that God has me where I am for a reason?
When did I stop believing that God answers my prayers?
In a few short months, I will complete my college undergraduate degree. Yet, only a few days ago, my cheeks were again damp as anxiety and uncertainty streamed down my face. What followed: A mother's tender concern. A counselor's wise advice. A preacher's true testimonies. And, a long-standing truth: The Lord prepares the way for His people.
While listening to the sermon recommended to me by my mother, the Lord impressed on my heart that I am where I am for a reason, that He has answered my prayers. That like Jonah, I have doubts about where God is sending me. Even though many times I doubted my major choice and considered changing, the Lord would always send some confirmation to me: a career skills test, a woman's prophetic words, a confirmation from a past teacher, an encouraging word from a current teacher... All the while, I prayed and trusted that God was guiding me.
God will answer those prayers.
I believe that(.)
I will like it in Ninevah.
When did I stop believing that God answers my prayers?
In a few short months, I will complete my college undergraduate degree. Yet, only a few days ago, my cheeks were again damp as anxiety and uncertainty streamed down my face. What followed: A mother's tender concern. A counselor's wise advice. A preacher's true testimonies. And, a long-standing truth: The Lord prepares the way for His people.
While listening to the sermon recommended to me by my mother, the Lord impressed on my heart that I am where I am for a reason, that He has answered my prayers. That like Jonah, I have doubts about where God is sending me. Even though many times I doubted my major choice and considered changing, the Lord would always send some confirmation to me: a career skills test, a woman's prophetic words, a confirmation from a past teacher, an encouraging word from a current teacher... All the while, I prayed and trusted that God was guiding me.
God will answer those prayers.
I believe that(.)
I will like it in Ninevah.
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