tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-67882196480211956332024-03-13T19:06:14.164-07:00Original Ramblingsjimmydhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06358618591990429382noreply@blogger.comBlogger47125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6788219648021195633.post-37644019553920903132014-06-07T17:46:00.001-07:002014-06-07T17:46:18.032-07:00<img src="http://www.randomhouse.com/images/dyn/cover/?source=9781601426048&width=125" /><br />
A Short Walk to the Edge of Life by Scott Hubbartt.<br />
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When Scott Hubbartt plans a trip to retrace his father-in-laws path and rediscover a lost mine, it seems like an easy challenge. An experienced hiker with great map and compass skills for navigating, Hubbartt sets out on a trip that should last less than one day. But confidence in his skills and his navigational tools lead him off the planned route and into what can only be considered the valley of the shadow of death.</div>
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Alone and thirsty and lost in the Andean desert plains of Peru, Hubbartt finds all his own skills useless and has no choice but to turn in desperation to God and reliance on God's grace alone to allow him to live.</div>
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I enjoyed this book but found it rather slow in the beginning. Not sharing the author's familiarty of the area I was thankful for the maps on some of the chapter headings. I also found the use of the navigational readings at the beginning of each chapter somewhat annoying and unnecessary.</div>
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Yet the book is authentic and the author's journey from a bold self-sufficient man to one who's very existence rests in the hands of God is powerful reading.<br />
"I received this book for free from <a href="http://www.bloggingforbooks.org/" target="_blank">Blogging for Books</a> for this review."<br />
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If you would like to read the first chapter click on the link below"<br />
<a href="http://waterbrookmultnomah.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/03/SneakPeek_AShortWalktoEdgeofLife.pdf">http://waterbrookmultnomah.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/03/SneakPeek_AShortWalktoEdgeofLife.pdf</a></div>
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jimmydhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06358618591990429382noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6788219648021195633.post-5487802319515740212014-01-11T05:53:00.001-08:002014-01-11T05:53:40.447-08:00
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 24pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">PC Time<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Every family has their traditions, and ours was no
exception.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Like most good CRC families,
Sunday afternoon was nap time for our parents.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>There were some fairly strict rules set for our behavior during nap
time, the number one rule being “don’t do anything that will wake up Dad.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our family consisted of 6 rambunctious boys
and one little sister who came later (as the crowning glory?) and nap time put
a definite damper on our Sunday afternoon playtime.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Being quiet was not one of the things we did
well but the punishment we would receive for waking up a parent was a strong
deterrent to loud behavior.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">One of our favorite Sunday afternoon traditions shared by us kids was what we called PC Time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Today
PC is an abbreviation for Politically Correct but for us back then it was much
simpler.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>PC meant Potato Chips.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My
parents would buy one bag of Jay’s potato chips each week and Sunday afternoon
was the time set aside to enjoy those salty delights.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">One of the older brothers would make the announcement “PC
Time” and we would all gather around the kitchen table.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One of us would then open the bag and we
would share the chips right out of the bag. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It may not seem too special now, in a world
that has Chicken and Waffle Potato Chips, but when you only get one bag of chips a
week and you have to split <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>it between
six children, PC Time was awesome.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">To make it even more exciting we did what kids do all the time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We invented a game to go with our
chip-eating.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We had a weekly contest
with a variety of winning criteria; first whole potato chip, last whole potato
chip, smallest whole potato chip, and largest whole potato chip.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There were no prizes but the competition was
fierce and it was not unusual for someone’s winning chip to be crunched by an
opponent before the chips were gone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
remember once finding a moldy chip between the kitchen window and screen, someone’s
bid for Last Whole Potato Chip from the week before that had apparently been
forgotten. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">In this day and age PC Time may seem like a boring game.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Most of us can now buy potato chips whenever
we want.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And entertainment is just a
button push away on any cell phone or I Pad.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>But it wasn’t the chips or the contests that we invented that made PC
Time special.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was spending time
together as kids, brothers (and a sister) of various ages meeting at the table and
sharing a snack together.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What we were
eating wasn’t important; it was the time we spent, gathered together as
sibling, building memories.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
jimmydhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06358618591990429382noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6788219648021195633.post-63420131749089482252013-12-20T14:06:00.000-08:002013-12-20T14:06:42.096-08:00 SAVED<br />
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span></span> </div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">A golden blanket of leaves cushioned the path, swallowing the
sound of his footsteps.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He followed the
route mainly by intuition, wandering between the blackened trunks of dead trees
and fallen branches.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Each time he found
a trail marker it was a small victory that caused him to wonder who or what was
guiding him.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Down, down the hill he went, down to the lake hidden beyond
the forest of stumps and dried marsh grass. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The trail curved along the ridge of the hill
and then descended, following what in springtime would be a rushing creek but now
just dent in the ground filled with the detritus of late autumn. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He followed the path until it turned and
opened up along the shoreline.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There he
found a recycled plastic bench with a metal frame that had been anchored with concrete
feet against the eroding waves of time.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Sitting on the bench he peered out over the lake and let his
troubled wander.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A strong northeast wind
churned up whitecaps across the lake.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>There were no boats out today.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It
was too late in the season, too cold and rough to risk being out today.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A flock of geese gathered mid-lake defying
the wind.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A hint of blue sky and
sunshine to the north teased him with a promise of sunshine with no guarantees
of making it to where he sat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
restless water reflected the shadows of trees, reflecting and refracting them
in the waves as they rolled against the shore. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The weather mirrored his mood, cold and dark and rough, any joy
he could see hiding on the far horizon well beyond his power to reach.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He felt he was carrying the weight of his own
world on his own shoulders, on his own head, in his own heart.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He tried to pray but the cold wind sucked the
breath and prayer from his lips.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Behind
him he heard the threatening sound of branches dislodged by the wind and
crashing into the woods.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Rain began to
fall, a wild mist that the wind turned into thousands of little needles that
stung his face and hands.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A single word
echoed in his head: hopeless.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Maybe I should just walk into the lake, he thought.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Just wade in and keep on wading until the
water reaches my waist, until it covers my shoulders and fills my lungs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But then what?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Peace?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The end of feeling dragged down and defeated?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Would his troubles be gone or would he just
be leaving them for someone else?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">God is love, he had learned in Sunday School, and His grace
is deep and wide.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Could grace, could
God, reach deep enough to find him in his despair?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Movement in the trees to his left drew his eyes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A small bird hung suspended from a branch, a
red-headed woodpecker, checking the branch for movement and looking for a meal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Its bright red head and black-and-white body stood
in contrast to the gloom that surrounded him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He sat as still as possible, certain any movement would spook the small bird
but it was too busy searching for food to even notice him.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Not finding any insects the bird flew to some marsh grass where
small white berries hung from dying twigs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The woodpecker pecked them off one by one and, now fed, flew away,
singing as it flew.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And in some strange way he felt the weight of
his burdens lift with the bird, lift as if someone had reached down and lifted them
from him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The woodpecker’s song of
content reminded him that if God cared enough to feed this little bird that
late November morning, how much more would God care for him?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">He left the bench and followed the path again, still leaf-buried
but somehow much more obvious, up and over, away from the gloom of the forest.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He followed it back to his campsite with a
fire burning in the fire ring and his wife sitting in a lawn chair with her
book and a cup of coffee.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And as he
settled into the chair next to her, whistling the song the woodpecker had
taught him, he thought, it is well.</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
jimmydhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06358618591990429382noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6788219648021195633.post-48425519156263084692013-12-20T13:52:00.002-08:002013-12-20T13:52:27.947-08:00I came across a couple of terms today describing a type of new religion. They are both terms related to a religious belief system that started with a single letter to a school board in 2005. I had never heard these terms before so I did what most of us would do, I Googled them to find out more.
The root of the religion is something called Pastafarianism. They believe that the world was created by a big Flying Spaghetti Machine (FSM). There were pictures on the Internet of people who created FSM wreaths, knit FSM tree toppers and ornaments. There was even an FSM in a manger, surrounded by Mary and Joseph. They celebrate a variety of holidays, including Pastover (pasta and Passover) and Ramendan (ramen noodles and Ramadan).
People who believe this aren’t called agnostics; they are called Spagnostics. They believe there is no omnipotent God but a delicious-looking and smiling Flying Spaghetti Machine that created everything.
They also believe that Pirates are the true bearers of their religious beliefs, and that the decrease in Pirates in the world is a lead cause of Global Warming.
Satirical doctrine or tongue-in-cheek agnosticism?
I believe it crosses a line. It is one thing to believe there is no God, to argue that science is the supreme answer to all of our questions, to argue against the historicity of creation and the Bible, to ask questions and have doubts (which are often the seed of faith). It’s another to make fun of people who do believe in God, who believe in intelligent design and in a Divine Designer. Pastafarinists are sort of saying, “how stupid can you be, if you want to believe in a God who created everything you might as well make your God a giant Flying Spaghetti Machine.
I wish I could say I would never stoop so low that I would make fun of someone’s firmly held religious beliefs, but…
So when the Pastafarians get together, do they get sauced?
What do they call Christmas, Pastamas?
When they talk about Pastafarians who have died, do they speak of them Pastahumosly?
Would it be fair to say that Spagnostics can get a little cheesy>
Do you want to even think about what the meatballs symbolize on the Flying Spaghetti Machine?
Pastafarianism started with a simple email questioning the teaching of Intelligent Design in the Kansas Public School system. It took on a life of its own once it hit the Internet. Maybe we should question Intelligent Design when we think of people creating a religion around a Flying Spaghetti Machine.
If you want to question Intelligent Design and cast doubt on an Intelligent Creator, please try to do so in an intelligent way. Leave the parmesan on the side.
jimmydhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06358618591990429382noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6788219648021195633.post-10180443784322537792012-04-16T03:44:00.000-07:002012-04-16T03:45:47.908-07:00Dieting the Right Way<a href="http://www.myfitnesspal.com"><img src="http://badges.myfitnesspal.com/badges/show/1645/8081/16458081.weight-lost-md.gif" border="0"></a><p style="text-align: center;width:152px;"><small>MyFitnessPal - Free <a href="http://www.myfitnesspal.com">Calorie Counter</a></small></p>jimmydhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06358618591990429382noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6788219648021195633.post-74272941805806198712012-03-30T12:48:00.002-07:002012-03-30T12:52:22.120-07:00One Heart At a Time- Reflections on My Own Racism<div align="justify">My wife and I have a strong belief that one of our goals as parents is to raise kids that are less prejudice than we are. I grew up in the south suburbs of Chicago, in a pocket of white, Dutch Christian Reformed families. Many of them had moved from an area in Chicago called Roseland to the suburbs where I grew up. In the 50’s and 60’s Roseland had been a thriving Dutch community, with several Christian Reformed churches. But when black families began to move into the neighborhood, drawn by the affordable housing and seeking the American Dream to own their own homes, the area experienced “white flight”. </div><br /><div align="justify"></div><br /><div align="justify">Spurred by some realtors who used the influx of black families as a scare tactic to convince white families that they better sell their houses soon before the property values fell, hundreds of families left the neighborhood and moved to the suburbs. Apparently the decision to live in an integrated neighborhood was not one they were willing to make. The end result was a deeply-rooted racism among that Dutch community, a seed of racism that carried through generations. I hoped that the prejudice of my generation would be a little less, and that each following generation would learn the truth of racial and ethnic equality.<br /></div><br /><div align="justify">The church I’m currently attending was doing a series on overcoming our prejudice. Along with the series were some specific plans to work towards integrating the church, both racially and ethnically. While I had some questions on how they planned to accomplish the second part, beginning the process with recognition and confession was a good first step. Along with overcoming our personal prejudices are the broader justice issues, overcoming systemic racism and prejudice. It’s a noble battle, and one that needs to be fought. There has been some headway in this battle in the last decade, but we have a long, long way to go. But are there things we can do as individuals to chip away at racism and prejudice?</div><br /><div align="justify"><br />Several years ago I was gassing up my van at a local gas station. I had finished pumping and was hanging up the nozzle when I heard someone shouting. I looked up to see a young black man running down the sidewalk. He was hollering at the city bus that had stopped at the intersection, trying to flag down the bus driver. He was only a half-block away, and was yelling loudly, so I assumed the bus would wait for him.</div><br /><div align="justify"><br />The bus door was open, having let a passenger off at that stop. I saw the bus driver look up at the young black man, look right at him. Then he closed the door and drove away. The young man stood there, shoulders dropped, head down. I felt an anger rise up inside me. I knew deep inside that I needed to get out of my comfort zone and do something.</div><br /><div align="justify"><br />My oldest son was in the van with me that day, and I reacted to what I had seen. I drove over to where that young black man stood and told him I had seen what the bus driver had done. I told him I would give him a ride and try to catch up to the bus. He gave me a strange look but was apparently desperate enough for a ride and climbed in my van. I drove like a bat-out-of-you-know-where, doing my best to catch up to that bus. I wanted to put that bus driver in his place. The young man told me he was going to classes down at the Community College. I told him if we didn’t catch up to the bus I would take him down town to school.</div><br /><div align="justify"><br />We caught that bus a few miles down the road. I pulled in front of it just as it was driving away, forcing it to stop. I watched in my mirror as the bus driver let that young man on the bus. I could see his stare in my side mirror.<br /></div><br /><div align="justify">I never asked the young man his name and don’t know what the impact of this incident was on him or on my son. I don’t think this single act atoned for my years of prejudice. This was no world-changing event. And yet maybe this is precisely the way to overcome prejudice, one ride at a time, one attempt at a time to overcome overt acts of racism and prejudice. Maybe the solution to systemic racism isn’t changing the system; it’s changing our hearts. </div>jimmydhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06358618591990429382noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6788219648021195633.post-4010708632133549902012-03-29T09:06:00.002-07:002012-03-29T09:12:00.247-07:00The Message I Would Have Given<div align="justify">I heard about the message at the funeral. If you listened you probably got it loud and clear; hell is a bad place and you don’t want to end up there. See, I was able to give you the gist of the message in one sentence.</div><br /><div align="justify"><br />But I must tell you, that’s not the sermon I would have preached at Aunt Bernie’s funeral. Too much judgment and not enough hope. No, the sermon I would have preached would have been quite different. I would have picked these wonderful words of Paul in the letter he wrote to the church in Rome.</div><br />14 For those who are led by the Spirit of God are the children of God. 15 The Spirit you received does not make you slaves, so that you live in fear again; rather, the Spirit you received brought about your adoption to sonship.[<a title="See footnote h" href="http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Romans%208&version=TNIV#fen-TNIV-28117h">h</a>] And by him we cry, “Abba,[<a title="See footnote i" href="http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Romans%208&version=TNIV#fen-TNIV-28117i">i</a>] if we are children, then we are heirs—heirs of God and co-heirs with Christ, if indeed we share in his sufferings in order that we may also share in his glory. (Romans 9:14-17)<br /><br /><div align="justify"><br />I love this verse! We know that the Spirit lives and moves today, that He came when Jesus ascended to continue the work of Christ, to bring about the Kingdom of God. We know that the Spirit works in all of our hearts regardless of where we are in our faith journey. The very fact that each of us is on a faith journey bears truth to His work.</div><br /><div align="justify"><br />And if the Spirit is working in each of us, and we become aware of His presence and allow Him to begin to lead us, then we are Children of God. Not slaves to the things everyone tells us we better do or we will go to hell. No, we are ADOPTED by God.</div><br /><div align="justify"><br />I love adoption. People who adopt practice a whole new kind of love. When you have kids the old fashioned way, you love them. You have to; you gave birth to them, you’re stuck with them, you have to love them. But when you adopt a child you make a decision to love that child. You have a choice in the matter, and you choose love. God chose to love us.</div><br /><div align="justify"><br />When you choose to let God lead your life, through the work of the Spirit, God ADOPTS you! God chooses to love you. Amazing, isn’t it? Doesn’t say if you’re good enough He will adopt you. It says when you surrender your life to Him and let Him lead, you become his child.</div><br /><div align="justify"><br />One of the comments I heard at the funeral home was “now we’re orphans.” In a sense, yes, you’ve lost your parents and are orphaned from them. But you’re not orphans if you have been adopted by God! You’re not left alone! You’re Father is embracing Fred and Bernie and He’s telling them, it’s all good, you’re kids are mine, too!</div><br /><div align="justify"><br />And if we are children, adopted in grace by God, then we are also heirs. We share in the inheritance, the riches of heaven and the kingdom of God. If we learn the truth that the day will come when God will throw down evil and re-create everything new, then we know that we will stand in glory in that new creation. Even death, the reason we’re gathered here, is gone. </div><br /><div align="justify"><br />Sure there’s a hell. But there’s also a heaven. And part of being adopted as heirs is that we are heirs of the promise, that some day we will live with Him in heaven, like Uncle Fred and Aunt Bernie and countless others who let the Spirit lead them.</div><br /><div align="justify"><br />So the question today is simple. Are you being led by the Spirit or by something else? I know it was your parents/grandparents/great-grandparents greatest desire that you surrender your life to Him.</div><br /><div align="justify"><br />Do you give up?</div>jimmydhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06358618591990429382noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6788219648021195633.post-51578970473283835312012-03-28T09:16:00.001-07:002012-03-28T09:19:37.467-07:00Hungry<div align="justify">How do you read your Bible when you are doing devotions? Right now I’m reading the letters of Paul in chronological order. I’ve noticed, though, that I have a pre-determined way to read them; by chapter. Big chapter or small, I read a chapter at a time and stop.</div><br /><div align="justify"><br />We often view our Bible that way, by chapter and verse. We’ve been brought up to follow the breaks in the passages, breaks inserted by those who edited the Bible. We even preach that way, taking small passages rather than entire chapters or books. Eugene Peterson’s translation The Message broke through some of those barriers, yet for many it’s difficult to get past the structure of the Bible. And while that structure is helpful unfortunately that structure can sometimes get in the way of the Spirit speaking through the Bible.</div><br /><div align="justify"><br />I had an interesting conversation with an employee at my work last week. He had been looking a little tired, so I asked him if he was OK. He told me he had not been getting enough sleep lately, so I asked him why. He said, “it’s an interesting story if you have a minute.” I hate to pass up good stories, so I took a few minutes to listen.</div><br /><div align="justify"><br />“I was born and raised as a Catholic in the Dominican Republic. As children we were never allowed to have a Bible in the house. Only priests could have the Bible. The only time we heard the Bible read was at Mass.</div><br /><div align="justify"><br />"One summer I attended a Vacation Bible school offered by a Protestant organization and as part of that program they gave me a New Testament. I began to read it and couldn’t put it down. I had to hide it from my parents; we weren’t supposed to have Bibles in the house. I would wait until I went to bed, then pull the covers up and read the Bible underneath them. I knew if my parents found the Bible I would get punished and have it taken away from me.</div><br /><div align="justify"><br />"I couldn’t stop reading. I didn’t worry about chapters and verses, I was reading whole stories. I would start reading and sometimes would read through the whole night. By the time I was in eighth grade and I knew the entire New Testament, having read through it several times. </div><br /><div align="justify"><br />"Unfortunately, I wasn’t getting enough sleep and it was beginning to show at school. The teacher called my parents and they determined that there must be something mentally wrong with me, so they sent me to a psychologist. I knew then I would have to admit what was going on; I told the Dr. about my Bible-reading. Of course, he made me tell my parents.<br /></div><br /><div align="justify">From that time on I have had a voracious hunger to read God’s word. I don’t just read a few verses or chapters; I sit down and read whole books at a time. I don’t’ think people realize what a blessing it is to have the freedom to read your Bible anywhere, anytime.”</div><br /><div align="justify"><br />Our conversation made me wonder; how big is my appetite for the Word? If I’m honest with myself I have to admit, I fill myself up on other things and don’t leave room for the Word. I fool myself by thinking “it’s a Christian book with Bible quotes, that’s the same as reading the Bible, right?” Reading Christian books can expand our spiritual horizons and challenge us in our daily life, but it can’t take the place of reading the Bible.</div><br /><div align="justify"><br />I pray that God will give me the appetite for His Word that my co-worker has, and that I may read it with the same passion and understanding that in it I find the very words of God.</div>jimmydhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06358618591990429382noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6788219648021195633.post-73445408938485443412012-03-23T09:26:00.002-07:002012-03-23T09:30:13.852-07:00Tithing<div align="justify">A few weeks ago I attended a church that had passed out a survey, asking questions on what are commonly called spiritual disciplines. The church was a large, well-established congregation in the suburbs. The survey included such things as reading the Bible, praying, quiet time, journaling, etc. It was part of a series called Moving Forward, focusing on four stages of spiritual growth, from a “discovery” phase to living a Christ-centered life. </div><br /><br /><div align="justify"><br />The worship service one particular week focused on catalysts for spiritual growth, using the results of the survey to get a “snapshot” of where this congregation falls on the spiritual growth scale. The results were somewhat surprising to me. </div><br /><br /><div align="justify"><br />The Pastor focused on three specific areas to measure spiritual growth; Bible reading, prayer, and tithing. The results of the survey indicated the following about this congregation:</div><br /><br /><div align="justify"><br /></div><br /><br /><div align="justify">42% practice tithing (defined as giving 10% or more to the church)<br />38% pray regularly/daily<br />22% read the Bible daily</div><br /><br /><div align="justify"><br />I have to confess, I was surprised by the results. I thought it was obvious that Bible reading would be at the top of the list, prayer next, and tithing well towards the bottom.</div><br /><br /><div align="justify"><br />Maybe it was the denomination I grew up in, a denomination that did not emphasize tithing but taught us that our giving was between us and God. Maybe it was my personal belief that tithing needs to be defined broader than just giving to a specific church. Maybe it was just the naivety of a Christian who assumed everyone reads their Bible every day. No matter the reason I was surprised by the results.</div><br /><br /><div align="justify"><br />The statistics are even more telling when placed against what the Pastor defined as the two greatest catalysts for spiritual growth, prayer and reflection on Scripture. I believe the two of them are bound together. People who pray Scripture are some of the best prayer warriors you will ever meet.</div><br /><br /><div align="justify"></div><br /><br /><div align="justify">It’s interesting to note that tithing is not listed as one of the top two catalysts for spiritual growth. When comparing tithing to prayer and Bible reflection there are some interesting things to notice.</div><br /><br /><div align="justify"><br />- Tithing is an outward expression of spiritual growth; prayer and reading the Bible are inward expressions.<br />-A tithe is very measurable; growth in prayer and scripture not nearly so.<br />-Tithing asks you to give of your money; prayer and Bible reading require time and commitment.<br />-Believers and non-believers alike give financially; only believers will bury their head in the Bible or bare their souls in prayer.</div><br /><br /><div align="justify"><br /></div><br /><br /><div align="justify">Looking at these statistics I tried to determine what these things say about this church. Needing a second opinion I asked my wife, whose vision on these things is often much clearer than mine. Knowing the church that took the survey she said it tells us that since the congregation is upper-middle class, giving is the easiest of the three disciplines for them to practice. Prayer, she said, is harder, but you still can pray anytime, anywhere. Reading the Bible takes a real commitment. It takes having a Bible, opening it, reading it, reflecting on it. It involves more than a wallet or a checkbook; it involves your body and your mind and your heart. </div><br /><br /><div align="justify"><br /></div><br /><br /><div align="justify">Churches tend to do a good job of teaching the Bible stories, particularly churches with a focus on biblical exposition and preaching. Yet many churches fail to ignite a passion for the Bible. Too often the Bible is reduced to a how-to manual for spiritual life and we never develop into people who burn with a desire to read it every day, people who long for intimate time with God.<br />A passion for the Bible ignites a passion for prayer. The Bible is filled with prayer stories, answered and unanswered prayer, passionate and desperate prayer, bargaining, pleading, praising prayer, even complaining prayer. The Bible introduces us to prayer warriors and to prayer chickens, people just like us. </div><br /><br /><div align="justify"><br /></div><br /><br /><div align="justify">It seems to me that our faith is rooted and grounded in the Bible. This is where we read the stories that satisfy our appetite for God. Those stories teach us about grace and gratitude. God speaks to us through the Bible. Bible reading becomes the foundation of our prayers, encouraging even greater spiritual growth. Spiritual growth, in turn, urges us to act on our faith, giving sacrificially, giving or tithing as a spiritual act of worship.</div><br /><br /><div align="justify"><br /></div><br /><br /><div align="justify">Tithing may be a visible measure of our spiritual growth but passionate pursuit of God in His Word and in prayer are much better measures. Tithing can lead to a certain pride, a sense that we’ve done our share, a sense that giving meets some requirement for grace. It can even limit joyful giving; some people feel if they meet the tithe their giving is done for the year. Passionate giving, motivated by an understanding of what God gave for us, giving beyond our means, leads us to the humility of complete dependence on God.<br /></div><br /><br /><div align="justify"></div><br /><br /><div align="justify">The author of the book of James urges us to be “doers of the Word, and not hearers only, deluding our own selves.” (James 1:22). Can we really become doers of the Word if we don’t first spend the time listening to what it says and talking with God to understand what it means in our life?<br /></div><br /><br /><div align="justify">May the Lord ignite in all of us a burning desire to meet Him prayerfully in His Word, and may we seek visible ways to live out what we hear from Him.</div>jimmydhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06358618591990429382noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6788219648021195633.post-62025610257849923462012-03-22T06:49:00.001-07:002012-03-22T06:51:10.249-07:00The Body of Christ<div align="justify">I was attending a worship conference at a local Christian college and as part of the final worship service we celebrated the Lord's Supper. I had been born and raised in a Christian church, so the sacrament of the Lord's Supper was very familiar to me. </div><br /><div align="justify"><br />I had seen it celebrated a number of ways; the passing of a tray with small communion cups and small pieces of bread; served with a common loaf and cup; services where the people came to the front and were served one by one; celebrations where small groups gathered at the front and celebrated communion together. I even attended a coffee-shop service where the elements were set out at the beginning and people took the bread and wine at any time during the service as a personal time of communing with God.</div><br /><div align="justify"><br />At the conference worship service we came forward row by row to meet two people staged in the center of each aisle, one with a loaf of bread and one with a cup of wine. I walked down the aisle and met a man holding the loaf.</div><br /><div align="justify"><br />"The body of Christ, broken for you," he said quietly.<br /></div><br /><div align="justify">I tore a small piece of bread from the loaf and stepped to a woman holding a silver cup of wine. I carefully dipped my bread in the cup.<br /></div><br /><div align="justify">“The blood of Christ, shed for you, Jim,” the woman said softly.<br /></div><br /><div align="justify">I was startled. What kind of miracle was this? I had never met this woman. How could she possibly know my name? My eyes began to water as I ate the wine-soaked bread. A sudden realization washed over me, a wave of wonder; the body of Christ, the blood of Christ, for me. Jim. Broken, shed, for me. Jim.<br /></div><br /><div align="justify">The words sunk deep into my head, deep into my heart, penetrated the very depths of my soul.<br />Barely holding back my tears I returned to my seat and thanked God for a love so great He had died for me, for Jim.</div><br /><div align="justify"><br />It wasn’t until I got home that I realized how the woman knew my name; I was wearing a large conference tag with my name clearly printed on the front. </div><br /><div align="justify"><br />But knowing the secret didn’t lessen the impact. Christ died for me. His body broken, His blood poured out, for me, for Jim. And the next time I served Communion I made sure to tell everyone I served the same thing.</div><br /><div align="justify"><br />“Christ’s body, broken for you, John, for you, Kim, for you, Charles, for you, Elaine.”</div><br /><div align="justify"><br />The Lord’s Supper has never been the same since.</div>jimmydhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06358618591990429382noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6788219648021195633.post-79946386651128254682012-03-21T09:17:00.000-07:002012-03-21T09:18:45.605-07:00Healing Field<div align="center"><strong>Healing Field</strong></div><br /><div align="center"></div><br /><div align="center"><br />A field of healing<br />Of stripes and stars and memories<br />Beneath each flying flag<br />A name a date a picture<br />Walk the field<br />Wander between the poles<br />Relive the horror of 9/11<br />And the hope of 9/12<br />Grandkids impressed but still<br />Has it already lost some meaning<br />To them to us<br />Should anything that turns us to the One hope for peace be forgotten?<br />Wander between the poles<br />Walk the field<br />A name a date a picture<br />Beneath each flying flag<br />Of stripes and stars and memories<br />A field of healing</div>jimmydhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06358618591990429382noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6788219648021195633.post-11176434100225125852012-03-20T11:34:00.000-07:002012-03-20T11:35:25.503-07:00The Future of FaithI just finished a book by Harvey Cox titled The Future of Faith. I found it to be a fascinating book that captures in a broad sweep some of the changes happening in the church today. His view on faith fits well with what I’ve read and learned about ministry in a post-modern world.<br />Cox sees three specific periods within church history. The first stage, the early church following Pentecost, is defined as the church of faith. This new Christianity was being defined through a lens of how we live our lives. Small groups gathered in homes to worship and learn. They shared their goods with each other, providing for those in need. Their structure was one of various cells that may or may not interact with each other daily. While the Apostles played a leadership role it wasn’t as leaders as we define them in the organized church structure we have today. Having walked with the Master they brought their experiences and His teachings together. Cox sees Paul’s letter to the various church’s as specific to their church and its issues, not as a development of a Christian theology. The early church could be more clearly defined as a movement than as a denomination or church.<br />Cox defines the second stage in church history as the age of belief. As the small cells began to coalesce Christians began to become more focused on what they believed. The initial church consisted of large numbers of Jewish converts. This led to tension between Orthodox Judaism and this new movement, fostering long discussions in the house churches in how to interpret Jesus teachings in relationship to the laws and regulations many converts had observed throughout their life. The age of belief really picked up steam when the Emperor Constantine incorporated the church into the state. Congregations became formalized and disagreements over beliefs became organized discussions. Councils were called to try to develop definitive statements of belief. These definitive statements eventually were formalized into creeds. Cox believes that these creeds really served the purpose of keeping out those who did not agree with them rather than being vehicles to bring people into the church. At the same time the clerical caste developed, and with the backing of the state, they had tremendous power which led to tremendous corruption. With no access to the written word the common man was dependent on the clerical caste to explain Scripture. Constantine used the church as a political tool and the church leaders were more than willing to be used because of the huge benefits the leaders received.<br />The Reformation pointed out the problems in the Catholic Church, specifically the corruption in the clerical caste. It also brought about the printing of the Bible, putting the Scriptures into the hands of the common man. People no longer had to rely on the interpretations they received from the clergy; they could read and discuss and study the Bible themselves. This led to an increase in denominational splits, each developing their own creeds and doctrines. Some creeds, like the Apostles Creed, held throughout the Christian community. Additional statements of belief such as the Heidelberg and Luther Catechisms were developed by various denominations. This formalization changed the way we define faith. In the first movement faith was defined as action but now faith is defined as belief. Somehow we equated faith to confessing and adhering to specific beliefs. Cox argues that this change in the definition of faith has not been good for the church.<br />Cox defines the third stage in church history, the one occurring in religion today, as the age of the Spirit. The Pentecostal movement brought the work of the Holy Spirit to the front once again. While some denominations ran for cover and made sure to purge anything they felt was Pentecostal-like from their worship services, the movement itself grew worldwide. Cox sees the growth in this third stage to be particularly strong in the Global South church. Once again faith is defined as how you live your life, prompted by the Spirit’s leading, rather than an acceptance of standardized creeds and doctrines. He sees this third stage as closely resembling the first stage, the age of faith. The Emerging Church movement is a key example of this change in Christian churches in the Northern Global church. The movement towards house churches, the ecumenical ties between denominations, and the desire of younger Christians to accept a variety of faith beliefs within a single faith community are all evidences of the growth of the age of the Spirit.jimmydhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06358618591990429382noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6788219648021195633.post-26709678618727522862012-03-16T12:00:00.000-07:002012-03-16T12:01:36.499-07:00Best Kept SecretI miss sermons. Not hearing them, I hear them every week. I miss writing sermons. There’s something special about writing a sermon, something that’s hard to put into words. I wonder sometimes if this is a Pastor’s best-kept secret, that sermon-writing can be joyful.<br /><br />Recently I have been able to experience that joy again. I’ve been blessed with an opportunity to share God’s Word with a small group of believers at a local retirement community. And I do mean small. Often they’ll be only 4-5 people in attendance. But I make sure I preach the same way to that small congregation as I would to a whole sanctuary full of people. I think they deserve nothing less than my best. My utmost for His highest.<br /><br />Now I don’t really write my sermons out. I read through a passage and ask God what He wants me to share with my small group of believers. And I ask Him not only what do I want them to know but also what I want them to do (special thanks to Bill Hybels who taught that lesson years ago). It can be a challenge when my listeners are on the twilight end of their lives. But it’s the call. I spend some time looking at outside sources, reference material, commentaries, and other people’s blogs on the passage.<br /><br />Then I create the sermon, not on paper, not on a computer screen, not on an IPad or IPhone. No, I create it in my head. I can hear myself speaking, can hear the flow of the message and feel the cadence of delivery. It’s an awesome experience, but it’s not what I love the most.<br />What is truly amazing is feeling the Holy Spirit speak to me while I work. Questions pop into my mind as I read and re-read the text. Why doesn’t Jesus just answer the question? How did Isaac react and feel when he was laying on the altar? Was Adam’s description of Eve when he first met her rally a poem? What exactly was the thorn in Paul’s side? <br /><br />And not only do the questions flow, so do answers. Not all at once, not an epiphany, but a slow emerging of the truth of the passage and of what it will mean to the listeners. Even passages I’ve read a million times and heard preached on before take on a different understanding.<br />I’m not claiming some gift here. I just believe this is the joy of sermon-writing, the Holy Spirit working through your senses to teach you what the passage means, and leading you to understand what it should mean to your life.<br /><br />So I’m thankful for the chance to preach again, but even more thankful for a God who works in and through us to teach others.jimmydhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06358618591990429382noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6788219648021195633.post-88600056246548334822011-03-08T15:00:00.001-08:002011-03-08T15:05:19.461-08:00Albert Pujols- Man of Faith<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-mPRXNvViJWY/TXa2Gp_plJI/AAAAAAAAAy4/nvyt_rOqBEs/s1600/Pujols.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 80px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 120px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5581849013640598674" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-mPRXNvViJWY/TXa2Gp_plJI/AAAAAAAAAy4/nvyt_rOqBEs/s320/Pujols.jpg" /></a><br /><div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div>I have to confess to a personal bias as I review this book. I’m a Chicago Cubs fan, and should pan any book about a player for our arch rival, the St. Louis Cardinals. However, I laid my baseball (and his recent contract negotiations) aside and read the book Pujols. Somewhere in all the stats is a story but I had a hard time finding it. That Pujols is statistically one of the greatest hitters in baseball is indisputable, and the book follows the year-by-year progression of a player who hit over .300, drove in over 100 runs, and hit over 30 home runs in his first 10 seasons. Lamb and Ellsworth take us deeper; into the faith that motivates Pujols. The narrative is strong in baseball history but really skims the surface of Pujols’ life, marriage, and family. The authors assert Pujols faith and its evidence in his life and in baseball. ”Speaking to Posnanaski, Pujols laid it all out on the table for us to see: ‘You know how I want people to remember me? I don’t want to be remembered as the best baseball player ever. I want to be remembered as a great guy who loved the Lord, loved to serve the community and who gave back. That’s the guy I want to be remembered as when I’m done wearing the uniform. That’s from the bottom of my heart.” It’s difficult to argue with the expressions of Albert’s faith, but the narrative of his life is sorely lacking in details. Pujols’ daughter was born with Down’s syndrome. How did he and his wife feel when they learned the news? What did Albert feel when he held his daughter in his arms, as he watched her grow up? The book's most telling stat may be that 92% of those who find out they are having a child with Down’s syndrome abort the baby. The book does well in letting the reader know what a great player and strong Christian Albert is yet manages to do so without letting us really know Albert Pujols, the man. Maybe if I knew more of that man I could put my baseball bias aside and truly believe in him, and maybe others would be able to read this book and believe in Him. While the book holds up statistically I did not find it particularly inspiring and would be hesitant to recommend it to others as a testimony. I received this book free from Thomas Nelson Publishers as part of their BookSneeze.com book review bloggers program. I am under no compulsion to write a positive or negative review of this book. The opinions expressed are exclusively my own. I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission’s 16 CFR, Part 255.</div>jimmydhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06358618591990429382noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6788219648021195633.post-16458038936182252852011-01-23T04:54:00.000-08:002011-01-23T04:59:23.892-08:00Sabbath by Dan B. Allender<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_0JqcZzlVrtU/TTwmGAaNlNI/AAAAAAAAAxQ/O_95coHkpaA/s1600/sabbath.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 80px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 123px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5565365124154102994" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_0JqcZzlVrtU/TTwmGAaNlNI/AAAAAAAAAxQ/O_95coHkpaA/s320/sabbath.jpg" /></a><br /><strong>Sabbath</strong> is one of the books in the Ancient Practices Series and focuses on God’s command to “remember the Sabbath day, to keep it holy”. Allender look at the way we view Sabbath today, seeing this day as a day we have to go to church and (if you were raised in the same tradition as me) required nap time. Yet Allender points out that the Sabbath is so much more, a day we set apart from all the other days to rejoice and spend time with God. “Many who take the Sabbath seriously and intentionally ruin it with legislation and worrisome fences that protect the Sabbath but destroy its delight”. Sabbath is more than a day off work, more than a set of do’s and don’ts, more than tradition. Sabbath should be a time we delight in God and in the world God has given us. This delight leads us into worship, not just at a worship service, but in all that we see and do on our Sabbath. Sabbath is a day we spend in the presence of those we love, listening to them, sharing with them, serving them. Sabbath should be a day of joy, yet what differentiates the day for believers is whether “we will invite God to join us in Sabbath joy, to dine with us and celebrate”? Many people see Sunday as the Sabbath, church as our answer to the call for worship, and the Sunday afternoon nap as answering God’s call to rest. Allender helps us realize that our Sunday’s can become Sabbath days, set apart for our good and God’s glory. I confess that in my life this is a great challenge, and as I look at some of the ways the author spends his Sabbath I wonder if those things would ever be possible in my busy world. Yet I also know that the description of Sabbath given by Allender is an echo of the true Sabbath, when we will stand in the presence of Christ and truly celebrate. I would recommend this book to others. I received this book free from Thomas Nelson Publishers as part of their BookSneeze.com book review bloggers program. I am under no compulsion to write a positive or negative review of this book. The opinions expressed are exclusively my own. I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission’s 16 CFR, Part 255.jimmydhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06358618591990429382noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6788219648021195633.post-16214966845743169722010-12-04T09:41:00.000-08:002010-12-04T09:45:09.734-08:00The Least Among You<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0JqcZzlVrtU/TPp9yKgsLAI/AAAAAAAAAv4/0AKavcHC-ck/s1600/theleastamongyou.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 80px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 113px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5546884191828585474" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0JqcZzlVrtU/TPp9yKgsLAI/AAAAAAAAAv4/0AKavcHC-ck/s320/theleastamongyou.jpg" /></a><br />The film The Least Among You is inspired by a true story, a dramatic presentation of an age-old theme, racism. As part of an unusual probationary requirement, Richard Kelly is sent to an all-white seminary. If he completes two semesters his charge is dropped and he is a free man. Kelly is the only person of color in the seminary and is met with obvious disdain by his fellow students. However, over time he befriends them, overcoming some of their personal racist barriers. An underlying story is the pull of Kelly’s old life, particularly of his friends and family. This story is interesting but frankly just couldn’t hold my attention throughout. The pace is slow, the cinematic use of back flashes confusing, and the characters too shallow. That’s probably the part which I struggled with the most; I didn’t really care what happened to the characters, even Kelly himself. This film captures some tough themes and doesn’t shy away from some of the violence in Kelly’s background. Yet other films have handled this theme so much better that I would find it hard to recommend this one. I received this DVD free from Thomas Nelson Publishers as part of their BookSneeze.com book review bloggers program. I am under no compulsion to write a positive or negative review of this book. The opinions expressed are exclusively my own. I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission’s 16 CFR, Part 255.jimmydhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06358618591990429382noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6788219648021195633.post-29029350466003746042010-09-07T20:09:00.000-07:002010-09-07T20:13:29.761-07:00Pursued by Grace<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_0JqcZzlVrtU/TIb_P30ibdI/AAAAAAAAAuU/tHy3TfBaxV8/s1600/_140_245_Book_229_cover.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 140px; height: 210px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_0JqcZzlVrtU/TIb_P30ibdI/AAAAAAAAAuU/tHy3TfBaxV8/s320/_140_245_Book_229_cover.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5514375441909181906" /></a><br />Captured by Grace by Dr. David Jeremiah.<br />I found this book to be biblically accurate and powerful. Dr. Jeremiah is best when he explains “grace is an act.” More than goodness or righteousness, grace is God turning His face towards us just because He loves us. “God pursues us, relentlessly.” Tracing the parallels in the lives of both John Newton and the Apostle Paul, Jeremiah shows us the depths of that grace in their lives and in ours. The message of the book is somewhat obscured by the amount of visuals the author uses. It reminds me of a preacher who uses too many illustrations and by the time he’s done you have to go back to remember the main point of the message. Jeremiah uses the outline of the song Amazing Grace as well as outlining the book with a timeline (grace past, grace present, grace future). Throw in his use of multiple illustrations and it’s easy to lose the main point. In spite of this the book does manage to bring that point across, that God pursues us, not because we are so pursue-able, but simply because He loves us so much. Grace is that unmerited, undeserved love and favor of God, His acting in our lives every minute of every day. I received this book free from Thomas Nelson Publishers as part of their BookSneeze.com book review bloggers program. I am under no compulsion to write a positive or negative review of this book. The opinions expressed are exclusively my own. I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission’s 16 CFR, Part 255.jimmydhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06358618591990429382noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6788219648021195633.post-38701574421494361082010-08-01T14:10:00.000-07:002010-08-01T14:14:29.380-07:00Resurrection in May<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_0JqcZzlVrtU/TFXjDdtrgPI/AAAAAAAAAso/bttzH0oxm7M/s1600/reserrection+of+may.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 140px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 225px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5500552168558264562" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_0JqcZzlVrtU/TFXjDdtrgPI/AAAAAAAAAso/bttzH0oxm7M/s320/reserrection+of+may.jpg" /></a><br /><div></div> May Seymour was searching for something meaningful and not finding it. Literally picked up from the road by an elderly black farmer after a night of drinking, their friendship becomes the beginning of the end of that search. An invite from the local priest sends May to Rwanda where her she grows spiritually, But her time there ends in horrific, life-changing tragedy and she returns to her old friend’s farm, scarred both outside and in. Is there hope for May Seymour? Tumbling into a reclusive life, burying memories deep, relying on only a few people and friendly farm animals to survive, May claws her way back to God only to find that He was right there waiting all the time. Samson writes a story with a slow southern pace, with some quick plot turns that appear so suddenly you wonder if they truly happened. She reminds us that faith, hope, and love are best lived out in relationship, even if those relationships are not particularly normal. The characters in Resurrection in May are well-developed, particularly May, yet at times the situations seem a little far-fetched for someone living in a small southern town. Like any good slow story the pace quickens at the end, and the reader is pulled along to a satisfying conclusion. I enjoyed this book, but the slow pace of the story did cause it to drag at times. I received this book free from Thomas Nelson Publishers as part of their BookSneeze.com book review bloggers program. I am under no compulsion to write a positive or negative review of this book. The opinions expressed are exclusively my own. I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission’s 16 CFR, Part 255.jimmydhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06358618591990429382noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6788219648021195633.post-38669547321869133242010-06-23T13:25:00.000-07:002010-06-23T13:30:24.334-07:00Love On A Dime by Cara Lynn James<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0JqcZzlVrtU/TCJuwfzvBsI/AAAAAAAAAsg/6j3xsBmVUaY/s1600/books.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 51px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 80px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5486069075541952194" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0JqcZzlVrtU/TCJuwfzvBsI/AAAAAAAAAsg/6j3xsBmVUaY/s320/books.jpg" /></a><br /><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0JqcZzlVrtU/TCJuQkPykYI/AAAAAAAAAsY/Hiq8OB0KCqM/s1600/love+on+a+dime.png"></a><br />If you’re looking for swelling bosoms and ripping bodices, then this is not the book for you. But if you’re looking for a good period-piece romance with characters challenging themselves to submit all areas of their lives to God’s leading, even their romantic feelings, you can’t go wrong with this book. Fannie Cole is the author of “dime novels”, loved by the common person but often shunned as inferior literature by the more elite class. Yet Lilly, the real writer behind the Fannie Cole stories and a member of that elite class, works hard to pen stories with strong Christian morals. True to her Christian nature she donates all of the proceeds to a charity she supports. When her old beau Jack reappears after a long absence her romantic feelings are rekindled; but what about her fiancé’? The author creates interesting characters who waltz slowly through the story, and an underscore of various subplots keeps the reader spinning until the last dance. The final chapters pick up momentum and lead to a satisfying ending along with a few surprises. Christian romances aren’t my normal genre but I found the writing to be smooth and solid. I would recommend more books from this author if you are interested in Christian romance novels. I received this book free from Thomas Nelson Publishers as part of their BookSneeze.com book review bloggers program. I am under no compulsion to write a positive or negative review of this book. The opinions expressed are exclusively my own. I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission’s 16 CFR, Part 255.</div>jimmydhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06358618591990429382noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6788219648021195633.post-16608103072525559812010-05-18T17:56:00.000-07:002010-05-18T18:01:38.216-07:00I Am Hutterite by Mary-Ann Kirby<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_0JqcZzlVrtU/S_M3q0SrG6I/AAAAAAAAAsQ/wn_VqiUPO6w/s1600/i+am+hutterite.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 300px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5472779180916284322" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_0JqcZzlVrtU/S_M3q0SrG6I/AAAAAAAAAsQ/wn_VqiUPO6w/s320/i+am+hutterite.jpg" /></a><br />I Am Hutterite is a fascinating, funny, poignant look at life in a Hutterite community. Mary Ann Kirby’s memoir helps us understand what it is like to live in a cloistered community, a community where men and women know their place and all work toward the common good. But even in this secluded life politics and pride creep in causing her family to "weglaufen" (run away) and head out into a world that is as ill-prepared to receive them as they are to fit in. Kirby does a good job helping us see this challenge through the eyes of a young girl struggling to adjust to this strange life she now finds herself living. The faith that has been deeply ingrained in her heart and life helps her through the transition from her Hutterite life to becoming English. “And every year, by the grace of God, we inched forward.” The beginning of the book is a little slow, recounting the life of her ancestors and providing background into the Hutterite world. Once Ann-Marie is born the story picks up momentum. The book, much like the Hutterite community, is filled with humor, sometimes self-deprecating and often hilarious. Kirby does a good job helping us feel the tension between the Hutterite community and the world at large. I Am Hutterite is a coming-of-age book in two worlds, the secluded world of the Hutterites and the wider world where being different can be a challenge. The story also reminds us that sin affects even the most set-apart societies and that the devil does his most powerful work by hurting relationships. I would recommend this book. I received this book free from Thomas Nelson Publishers as part of their BookSneeze.com book review bloggers program. I am under no compulsion to write a positive or negative review of this book. The opinions expressed are exclusively my own. I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission’s 16 CFR, Part 255jimmydhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06358618591990429382noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6788219648021195633.post-47130088503704764742010-04-29T09:03:00.001-07:002010-04-29T09:10:59.040-07:00Wonders Never Cease by Tim Downs<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_0JqcZzlVrtU/S9muDIvqlAI/AAAAAAAAAsI/uq6iYWJ7Z5I/s1600/wonders+never+cease.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5465590991701054466" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 76px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 117px" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_0JqcZzlVrtU/S9muDIvqlAI/AAAAAAAAAsI/uq6iYWJ7Z5I/s320/wonders+never+cease.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />Does Leah truly see angels or are they figments of a damaged mind or an over-active imagination? Do angels even exist, and if they don’t, why are people so excited to read about them? Liv Hadyen’s best-selling novel It’s All About You is a run-away success, but the story behind the novel is one of greed and stupidity in a tale of both selfishness and hope. Tim Downs’ carefully-crafted characters are easy to both like and dislike. From the mysterious Emmett to the irascible Kemp, Downs creates people who come alive as you read. While the twists in this book weren’t all that surprising they were no less satisfying. And the premise of Liv Hayden’s successful novel leads to the comparison of a self-centered life (it’s all about you) to the one Rick Warren shows us in The Purpose Driven Life (it’s not about you). This is the first Downs novel I have read and I found myself checking out the other titles at the end of my edition. I would recommend this novel to anyone. I received this book free from Thomas Nelson Publishers as part of their BookSneeze.com book review bloggers program. I am under no compulsion to write a positive or negative review of this book. The opinions expressed are exclusively my own. I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission’s 16 CFR, Part 255jimmydhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06358618591990429382noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6788219648021195633.post-41579283593678047292010-04-19T09:10:00.000-07:002010-04-19T09:15:10.903-07:00Eating the Word<div align="justify">How do you read your Bible when you are doing devotions? Recently I read the letters of Paul in chronological order. I’<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">ve</span> noticed, though, that I have a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">pre</span>-determined way to read them; by chapter. Big chapter or small, I read a chapter at a time and stop.</div><div align="justify"><br />We often view our Bible that way, by chapter and verse. We’<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">ve</span> been brought up to follow the breaks in the passages, breaks inserted by those who edited the Bible. We even preach that way, taking small passages rather than entire chapters or books. Eugene Peterson’s paraphrase The Message broke through some of those barriers, yet for many it’s difficult to get past the structure of the Bible. Unfortunately, that structure can sometimes get in the way of the Spirit's speaking.</div><div align="justify"><br />I had an interesting conversation with an employee at my work last week. He had been looking a little tired, so I asked him if he was OK. He told me he had not been getting enough sleep lately, so I asked him why. He said, “it’s an interesting story if you have a minute.” I hate to pass up good stories, so I took a few minutes to listen.</div><div align="justify"><br />“I was born and raised as a Catholic in the Dominican Republic. As children we were never allowed to have a Bible in the house. Only priests could have the Bible. The only time we heard the Bible read was at Mass.</div><div align="justify"><br />One summer I attended a Vacation Bible school offered by a Protestant organization and as part of that program they gave me a New Testament. I began to read it and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">couldn</span>’t put it down. I had to hide it from my parents; we <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">weren</span>’t supposed to have Bibles in the house. I would wait until I went to bed, then pull the covers up and read the Bible underneath them. I knew if my parents found the Bible I would get punished and have it taken away from me.</div><div align="justify"><br />I <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">couldn</span>’t stop reading. I <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">didn</span>’t worry about chapters and verses, I was reading whole stories. I would start reading and sometimes would read through the whole night. By the time I was in eighth grade I knew the entire New Testament, having read through it several times. </div><div align="justify"><br />Unfortunately, I <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">wasn</span>’t getting enough sleep and it was beginning to show at school. The teacher called my parents and they determined that there must be something mentally wrong with me, so they sent me to a psychologist. I knew then I would have to admit what was going on; I told the doctor about my Bible-reading. Of course, he made me tell my parents.</div><div align="justify"><br />From that time on I have had a voracious hunger to read God’s word. I don’t just read a few verses or chapters; I sit down and read whole books at a time. I don’t’ think people realize what a blessing it is to have the freedom to read your Bible anywhere, anytime.”</div><div align="justify"><br />Our conversation made me wonder; how big is my appetite for the Word? If I’m honest with myself I have to admit, I fill myself up on other things and don’t leave room for the Word. I fool myself by thinking “it’s a Christian book with Bible quotes, that’s the same as reading the Bible, right?” Reading Christian books can expand our spiritual horizons and challenge us in our daily life, but it can’t take the place of reading the Bible.</div><div align="justify"><br />I pray that God will give me the appetite for His Word that my co-worker has, and that I may read it with the same passion, understanding that in it I find the very words of God.</div>jimmydhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06358618591990429382noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6788219648021195633.post-2310065887884719912010-04-16T09:04:00.000-07:002010-04-16T09:07:36.645-07:00Lady in Red<div align="justify">She kneeled on the stairs in the front of the sanctuary, her low-cut tight-fitting red dress clinging to her dark black body like a scarlet letter. Her bright dress and dark skin stood in glaring contrast to the subdued hues of the sanctuary and mostly-white tones of the congregation. She kneeled with eyes squeezed shut, hands upraised, ready to receive the benediction as if it was forgiveness.<br /><br />No one left their seat but there was little doubt that most eyes were watching her; she was hard to miss. We stayed seated, confined to our pews, wondering who she was and why she was kneeling up front, questioning how she came to be in our church that Sunday morning. Imagining without knowing the kind of life she must lead and filling in the blanks with all kinds of sordid details.<br /><br />The Spirit nudged me, spoke to me, prodded and pushed me. Go kneel with her. Kneel beside her so she is not alone. Kneel beside her so she knows the church is really people, not the preacher or the building but people who live in God’s forgiveness. Kneel beside her because you’re no better than she is, need to surrender your life as much as she does, need the same measure of forgiveness.<br /><br />The Preacher began the benediction.<br /><br />“May the Lord bless you and keep you and cause His face to shine upon you…” </div><div align="justify"><br />Everything in my heart and soul said go up there, do it. But my head said no. If you go up there every one will stare at you. You’re not supposed to leave your pew. Just wait it out, the benediction will be over and we’ll sing the closing song, “bless the Lord oh my soul and all that is within me bless His holy name.” All that is within me was struggling, longing to have the courage to kneel with this woman and make her feel welcome in His presence.<br /><br />I felt no peace and never left my seat. “…and give you His peace. Amen.”<br /><br />We sang the doxology and I walked out of church.<br /><br />I wonder what happened to that woman. </div>jimmydhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06358618591990429382noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6788219648021195633.post-46076963843464567552010-04-15T18:15:00.000-07:002010-04-15T18:16:37.213-07:00<a href="http://booksneeze.com/reviews/blogger/12735?ref=badge"><img alt="I review for BookSneeze" src="http://booksneeze.com/images/booksneeze_badge.png" border="0" width="200" height="150"></a>jimmydhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06358618591990429382noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6788219648021195633.post-32121474418693709512009-12-28T11:37:00.000-08:002009-12-28T11:42:51.871-08:00Christmas ContrastKarl reached for his fourth sugar packet, a furtive stretch while Kerry was giving their order to the waitress. Having snatched a packet and he slowly moved his hand under the table. Out of her watchful sight he tore the top off the packet, waiting for an opportune time to add it to his cup. They were eating at Russ’s. Again. While his wife chatted amiably with the young waitress he chanced it and quickly poured the sugar into his coffee. As if the added sugar could sweeten his sour mood. <br /><br />When she had ordered their dinner Kerry turned back to her husband. She noticed the empty sugar packet tucked under his plate but said nothing. She might mention it when he complained about gaining weight over the holidays. But it was Christmas, and he was her husband, and she loved him.<br /><br />“Karl, I don’t know why you are so upset about this. People have a right to believe or not believe whatever they want.”<br /><br />“He just ticks me off, that’s all I’m saying.” Karl stirred his coffee as he spoke, a frost of vanilla creamer swirling in the cup. “Every year he sits out on the Christmas party. Every year he refuses to be part of the gift giving. Every year he gives his little speech on how not everyone believes in Christmas, how we have to be respectful of other people’s points of view.”<br /><br />Kerri could see he was getting cranky, but she spoke anyways.<br /><br />“Well, people do have the right to believe what they want, and we should be respectful of their beliefs. He seems to be OK with you believing.<br /><br />“Oh, I’m respectful,” Karl replied. “If he wants to be an idiot and not believe in Christmas, I can respect that.”<br /><br />Karl could feel the anger rising in him. He stirred his coffee harder, sloshing it over the side and onto the table. His blood pressure must be up again. Try as he might he just could not understand it; Silas was a normal guy, how could he not believe in Christmas? If he was Jewish or Muslim or something maybe it would make sense, but he said he just wasn’t religious. <br /> <br />Christmas carols played on the overhead speakers. The waitresses wore Santa hats and had Christmas pins on their blouses. Christmas lights were strung throughout the restaurant and a beautifully decorated tree stood in the foyer. The mood of the others in the restaurant reflected a general feeling of good will among men.<br /><br />Night came early and Silas settled back in his easy chair. He hit the menu button and scrolled past all the Christmas specials and programs. He finally came across a Discovery Channel special on the origin of the universe. He was always fascinated with these types of programs. A bowl of soup and a chicken salad sandwich balanced precariously on a tray on his lap as he settled in to watch. He had picked up a couple of packs of those Christmas Jingles cookies. They were 50% off at the Market around the corner. He planned to have a couple for dessert later that night. That would be the closest he would come to celebrating Christmas.<br /><br />Karl checked the bill to make sure the amounts were right. Not bad, $16.50 for the two of them.<br /><br />“Kerri, what’s 15% of $16.50?”<br /><br /> She smiled at him. She knew he was horrible at math, and notoriously cheap. <br />“Five dollars.”<br /><br />Karl flinched momentarily, his wallet open. “Seems like a lot. You sure?”<br />“Yes, Karl, I am sure.”<br /><br />Karl reluctantly left a $5.00 bill on the table and left to pay the bill. Kerri caught up with him by the register. When he turned to put the change into his pocket she stopped him and pointed to the small canister on the counter. He dropped the coins in the canister and pocketed the bills. Without hesitation she reached into his pocket, pulled out the remaining $3.00 and slipped the bills into the canister.<br /><br />Silas watched the special, noting the beauty of the pictures and the strength of the theory. He was amazed at minds that could make sense of the complexity, could help understand how such order came about after such a massive explosion like the Big Bang. Having finished dinner he made some tea, then listened to NPR while he nibbled on his Jingle cookies. One good thing about Christmas; he got good cookies. Snow fell softly outside his window. Colorful lights from the neighbor’s house illuminated the banks of snow in his back yard. The quiet and beauty of the night calmed him.<br /><br />They drove home, their favorite Christmas CD in the player. Kerri snuggled up close, her hand in Karl’s. She quietly hummed along with the music. Snow was falling in soft, wispy flakes. Colorful stockings outlined in white lights hung from each telephone pole along the road. The quiet and beauty of the night calmed even Karl’s sour mood. Don’t believe in Christmas; too bad for Silas. He didn’t know what he was missing. Tomorrow morning they would go to church and listen to the Christmas story. That afternoon the kids and grandkids would stop by. He loved to watch the grandkids eyes as they opened their presents. Karl was notoriously cheap (frugal, he liked to say) but not when it came to the grandkids. Their wish was his command.<br /><br />Silas read a chapter in his book before getting ready for bed. After a shower and a good tooth-brushing he headed off to bed. Visions of exploding stars and swirling galaxies filled his head as he drifted off to sleep.<br /><br />Tomorrow was Saturday.<br /><br />Arriving home Karl and Kerri watched a little TV. Its A Wonderful Life was on again and they sat on the couch together to watch. When the movie was over the switched off the TV and headed to bed. Kerri put on the nightgown she had bought for herself, elegant and soft, and surprised Karl with a kiss in the hall as he headed to the bedrooms. Karl had visions in his head, and they were of more than sugarplums as he followed her into the bedroom. He left the Christmas tree lit so it would greet them the following morning.<br /><br />Tomorrow was Christmas day.jimmydhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06358618591990429382noreply@blogger.com0