Just ask my Mom, or Jill Hensiak. Getting up in the morning has been an eternal struggle in the life of Jill. Mornings are not my forte, and alarm clocks are not my friend. Which, in turn, has most likely produced my caffeine dependency. It has also produced a lot of excuses.
Yesterday I finally got up early enough to plop on my couch and read my Bible. I was lead to Mark 4:3-8, "Listen! A farmer went out to sow his seed. As he was scattering the seed, some fell along the path, and the birds came and ate it up. Some fell on rocky places, where it did not have much soil. It sprang up quickly, because the soil was shallow. But when the sun came up, the plants were scorched, and they withered because they had no root. Other seed fell among thorns, which grew up and choked the plants, so that they did not bear grain. Still other seed fell on good soil. It came up, grew and produced a crop, multiplying thirty, sixty, or even a hundred times."
Smack! God has hit me with conviction. What am I doing to till good soil in my heart for the Word to land on? Am I giving it room to grow, setting aside significant time in my day so it can take deep root? Is the first real thought of my day how much I hate my alarm clock or how big God is? I've been thinking about those verses since yesterday morning, and God has taught me that I need to start my day with him - not out of ritual or because it's what "good Christians" do, but because I need to give him time, I need to give him good soil. His word needs to define my day.
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
Sunday, June 7, 2009
"Come on in, child. Let's go worship the Lord."
One of our co-workers, Felicia, invited us to go to her church today, Poplar African Methodist Episcopal Church. As we asked permission to attend from our project director, Gary, he smiled, leaned in a bit and said, "Just in case you don't know, you'll probably be the only white people there."
I'll just lay it out there: I rarely find myself in the minority. I can count the number of times on my hand that it's happened. As Bayley, Danielle and myself drove 8 miles into the South Carolina countryside, the nerves started to hit. Before we stepped out of the car Bayley threw up a prayer, "God, we ask that you'd be with us this morning. Give us someone welcoming as we go into this church." I giggled nervously and wondered what the church would think of three white girls from Minnesota randomly attending their service.
God answered Bayley's prayer before it was even spoken out loud. A warm, wonderful black Southern woman in the car next to us greeted us, enveloping all of us in hugs and kissing us on the cheek. "Come on in, come on now, welcome! Come on in, child. Let's go worship the Lord."
We were greeted with handshakes, hugs, smiles and conversation. The church was small but pristine, with stained glass windows and quilted red velvet pews, women adorned with colorful hats, men in pinstriped suits, little boys in bow ties and girls with ribbons in their hair. The service started with a very unassuming woman in a white suit stepping up to the pulpit, gingerly taking the microphone into her hand. Then she started to pray. Don't kid yourself. She did not pray how you'd think a small, sweet, elderly woman would - her voice grew louder and louder and she threw her hands in the air and thanked the Lord Jesus. "Amen" and "Hallelujiah" rang out from the church pews, from the choir, from the Reverend. This was a church that prayed together.
The 2 1/2 hour service flowed without concern for time or appearance. I gave up trying to follow along in my bulletin. Reverend Matthew Furness spoke on Acts 24:24-25: "Several days later Felix came with his wife Drusilla, who was a Jewess. He sent for Paul and listened to him as he spoke about faith in Christ Jesus. As Paul discoursed on righteousness, self-control and the judgement to come, Felix was afraid and said, 'That's enough for now! You may leave. When I find it convenient, I will send for you.'"
Reverend Furness brought it home. Often we approach following God as something that must conveniently fit into our schedule - I do, at least. What are we afraid of? Are we afraid of what he might ask us to do, or give up, or bring into our lives? If I'm honest, it's challenging to always act on the belief that God is completely and fully good: that his plan for our lives is so much more amazing and fulfilling than the crayon-drawn blueprints we come up with, that he loves us perfectly, that the truth of God gives us more freedom than anything else in this world. We want control of our own lives because then, at least, it's predictable (or we'd like to think so).
As we were leaving, a woman came up to us and gave us each little plaques with the "Footprints" poem on it, thanking us for coming to church. Every single person that said goodbye to us thanked us for coming, and asked us to come back as they offered their open arms to hug us. I couldn't help but think that God does that very same thing.
I'll just lay it out there: I rarely find myself in the minority. I can count the number of times on my hand that it's happened. As Bayley, Danielle and myself drove 8 miles into the South Carolina countryside, the nerves started to hit. Before we stepped out of the car Bayley threw up a prayer, "God, we ask that you'd be with us this morning. Give us someone welcoming as we go into this church." I giggled nervously and wondered what the church would think of three white girls from Minnesota randomly attending their service.
God answered Bayley's prayer before it was even spoken out loud. A warm, wonderful black Southern woman in the car next to us greeted us, enveloping all of us in hugs and kissing us on the cheek. "Come on in, come on now, welcome! Come on in, child. Let's go worship the Lord."
We were greeted with handshakes, hugs, smiles and conversation. The church was small but pristine, with stained glass windows and quilted red velvet pews, women adorned with colorful hats, men in pinstriped suits, little boys in bow ties and girls with ribbons in their hair. The service started with a very unassuming woman in a white suit stepping up to the pulpit, gingerly taking the microphone into her hand. Then she started to pray. Don't kid yourself. She did not pray how you'd think a small, sweet, elderly woman would - her voice grew louder and louder and she threw her hands in the air and thanked the Lord Jesus. "Amen" and "Hallelujiah" rang out from the church pews, from the choir, from the Reverend. This was a church that prayed together.
The 2 1/2 hour service flowed without concern for time or appearance. I gave up trying to follow along in my bulletin. Reverend Matthew Furness spoke on Acts 24:24-25: "Several days later Felix came with his wife Drusilla, who was a Jewess. He sent for Paul and listened to him as he spoke about faith in Christ Jesus. As Paul discoursed on righteousness, self-control and the judgement to come, Felix was afraid and said, 'That's enough for now! You may leave. When I find it convenient, I will send for you.'"
Reverend Furness brought it home. Often we approach following God as something that must conveniently fit into our schedule - I do, at least. What are we afraid of? Are we afraid of what he might ask us to do, or give up, or bring into our lives? If I'm honest, it's challenging to always act on the belief that God is completely and fully good: that his plan for our lives is so much more amazing and fulfilling than the crayon-drawn blueprints we come up with, that he loves us perfectly, that the truth of God gives us more freedom than anything else in this world. We want control of our own lives because then, at least, it's predictable (or we'd like to think so).
As we were leaving, a woman came up to us and gave us each little plaques with the "Footprints" poem on it, thanking us for coming to church. Every single person that said goodbye to us thanked us for coming, and asked us to come back as they offered their open arms to hug us. I couldn't help but think that God does that very same thing.
Saturday, June 6, 2009
Wow. Yes, what everyone says about project is true - time FLIES.
I am working at McDonald's! Swing by and say hello. I'll be the Minnesotan girl working the drive-thru window, trying to decipher thick Southern accents through a crackling speaker.
"That was a small sprite, sir?"
"A small fry. FRY! I don't want no small sprite!"
"Oh yah, sure, no problem there sir, see you at the first window."
It's two languages colliding. Seeing as how I'm outnumbered, I've learned to translate.
I am so blessed to be working where I am - two other Crusaders work there, Bayley and Danille. We LOVE it. Whenever I hear "Miss Jill" or "scuse me, baby" I can't help but smile. They've been very patient with us this week, and God answered our prayers that we would catch on fast and learn quick. No one believes me when I tell them how great it is there. I feel more energized leaving work than I did coming into it - cool, huh? Not to mention, the highwater pleated black shorts are a definite perk.
I feel like I've known everyone here for years. God has fused instant connections, and as we share with each other and pray with each other, I have this sneaking suspicion that He's got a lot up his sleeve. There are wonderful women on this project and I never get tired of hearing their stories - what's made them who they are, their hurts, their joys, their healing and their hope.
Pray for my co-workers: Fenicia, Felicia, Marcus, Marco, Michael, Shannon, Toni, Gwen, Shimitrice, Angel, Alexis, Winnisette, Everton, Stacie, Ashley, Katoria, Lakeem.
Pray for this project! People need to hear the good news. Pray that we would be bold and loving while we share it. How amazing is it that God calls us sons and daughters? We are fiercely and compassionately loved by Him. I don't understand it, but in the meantime, I'm satisfied with sinking my feet into the sand and letting my heart be filled with the kind of joy and peace that doesn't fade with summertime.
I am working at McDonald's! Swing by and say hello. I'll be the Minnesotan girl working the drive-thru window, trying to decipher thick Southern accents through a crackling speaker.
"That was a small sprite, sir?"
"A small fry. FRY! I don't want no small sprite!"
"Oh yah, sure, no problem there sir, see you at the first window."
It's two languages colliding. Seeing as how I'm outnumbered, I've learned to translate.
I am so blessed to be working where I am - two other Crusaders work there, Bayley and Danille. We LOVE it. Whenever I hear "Miss Jill" or "scuse me, baby" I can't help but smile. They've been very patient with us this week, and God answered our prayers that we would catch on fast and learn quick. No one believes me when I tell them how great it is there. I feel more energized leaving work than I did coming into it - cool, huh? Not to mention, the highwater pleated black shorts are a definite perk.
I feel like I've known everyone here for years. God has fused instant connections, and as we share with each other and pray with each other, I have this sneaking suspicion that He's got a lot up his sleeve. There are wonderful women on this project and I never get tired of hearing their stories - what's made them who they are, their hurts, their joys, their healing and their hope.
Pray for my co-workers: Fenicia, Felicia, Marcus, Marco, Michael, Shannon, Toni, Gwen, Shimitrice, Angel, Alexis, Winnisette, Everton, Stacie, Ashley, Katoria, Lakeem.
Pray for this project! People need to hear the good news. Pray that we would be bold and loving while we share it. How amazing is it that God calls us sons and daughters? We are fiercely and compassionately loved by Him. I don't understand it, but in the meantime, I'm satisfied with sinking my feet into the sand and letting my heart be filled with the kind of joy and peace that doesn't fade with summertime.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)