Just Another Manic Sunday...

Easter Sunday, our pastor  talked about how many pastors view Easter Sunday Sermon as the Big Daddy Sermon of the year. Churches stress over how to get record crowds into the pews, how to reach the most people on that one particular Sunday. I remember seeing ads on facebook, "come worship with us this Easter Sunday and you could win a free flat screen TV," "Come visit us and win an I-pad."  Our church, had no fancy electronics to entice wanders to cross our thresh hold. How could such a tiny little church complete with the offers of grandeur made by some churches? We can barely keep the sound system from screeching and the powerpoint operating some weeks.

I can tell how "on fire" my Pastor is going to be each Sunday before I even get out of bed. I have noticed for quite some time that the more God has in store for that morning, the harder Satan attacks. The kids fight, we oversleep, no one listens, clothes can't be found, every one is grouchy. We fly out the door, usually five minutes after we should have left, to make the thirty minute trek up the highway to Wapak, only be stuck in construction traffic. 

This morning was no different. Thing were just not good. Kids had fought all weekend, one had been caught in a big lie, one refused to get up.  I was tired, and to top things off my body hurts. My carpal tunnel is at a new all time high, waking me up in the middle of the night with numb hands and  searing pain shooting up my arms, rendering it almost impossible to find any strength in my hands.  My good ol' arthritis has began to kick in due to the chill in the morning and evening air. Yet, somehow, despite these "satan blocks," this morning we managed to leave on time, arriving before the beginning of the service.

We arrived in time to greet our church family and find our way to "our" spot. Grandpa found Rick and assigned him to the sound equipment, the kids wondered off to Adventureland. I sat and wondered what in the world was going on. There were new faces everywhere. The pews began filling up and I am pretty sure I heard our little church let out a joyful groan as it stretched its doors open a little wider, a little prouder.I thought perhaps I had missed the divine marquis above our church that was pointing down at the doors saying, "come one, come all."  There really is no feeling like seeing so many new faces to worship with you in the place you so love.

In the book of Matthew, Jesus states, "For where two or three are gathered together in My name, I am there in the midst of them" (18:20, NKJV). And boy, let me tell you, God was in our presence well before the sermon began!  As it was stated by Pastor Stephen, the sermon was just thge "icing on the cake" today.  God is working. He has great plans for this little church. It is so evident to me by how the Holy Spirit shows up each Sunday: the many new faces, the spontaneous sharing of testimonies, the occupied altar, the family that started with five attending, but now takes up two pews. 

Today it struck me, as it has many times, that we, as a church are growing both in numbers and in our faith. But how can this be since we have no fancy Sunday give aways, no television commericals advertising "Miracle Sunday." In my mind, the answer to this is very simple. We have an amazing, humble pastor whose only goal is to allow God to speak through him. He preaches nothing more than God's word, His promises, His commands. He does this in a manner that allows each of us to connect, to find what God is saying to us, what God is asking of each of us. There is no added pizzazz, no added promises, no tweaking of the scripture to fit what he wants to say, just what is written in our Grand Book.  We are growing because we have Godly leadership, but also because we have love and understand that we are a family. Never have I been part of a church that is so giving, so loving, so welcoming. Each Sunday morning, it is like returning to a family reunion, seeing family that I have not seen in years. And by the time I move out of the embrace of the first hug that morning, nothing else seems to matter.The stress of the morning has melted away. My heart is ready to worship, to receive what God has in store. 

How fortunate we are to have found our home and to be part of a growing congregation whose heart is so focused on God's will, on serving our Abba Pappa. I can think of no other place I want to be on Sundays, even if it means rebuking Satan and dealing with Sunday morning madness! 

Frank

His name was Frank. He had those big blue eyes that melted my heart, messy brown hair. He was a rule breaker, and I fell for him. I was barely twenty, he was seven. I was student teaching when I met Frank. The teacher had already developed a strong distaste for this boy who would not follow rules, that tried her patience, that just refused to cooperate. He had been separated from the others,and had spent a great deal of his first grade year counting the bricks in the hallway.  But, I liked him.  Perhaps at first it was because my cooperating teacher had a mutual distaste for both him and me (and I could not stand her).   Regardless what the early draw towards this boy was, we developed a strong bond. The last I saw Frank, he had come to school with huge bruises all over his arm. As a last resort, the teacher called me to see if I could get him to talk, I couldn't.  I have always wondered what happened to Frank.  Looking back,  I can say that Frank was the first in a long line of trouble making, rule breaking, score-crashing kids that I fell in love with.

After surviving a horrific student teaching experience, I vowed I would never set foot in a classroom. I decided to do Voluntary Service through the church since I had just wasted four years on a teaching degree. I mean, that is what made the most sense...waste money on a four year degree, take a nonpaying job--brilliant! In all honesty, it was where God was leading me. It was what God had planned for me. I was just trying to be obedient.

The first two assignments I was offerred--teaching troubled kids. Kids with severe mental illness and had severe behavior issues.  I KNEW that was NOT for me, so instead I took a job with the Boys & Girls Club and as a youth minstry director.  Even here, I found myself drawn more to those rowdy kids that others found exhausting!  There was Alex with his crazy wild hair, dirty socks tucked under his feet and stuffed into his shoes.  He ended up staying with me for several weeks after his dad backed out and his mom was training for a new job. There was Scott, who challenged every ounce of patience and self control that I had. When he moved away, I cried.

A year and a half into my service commitment, my first teaching job found me. They sought me out. Teaching preschool couldn't be too bad, right? My first day teaching was the first time I had heard a four year old drop the "f" bomb and use it in a grammatically correct manner! That little gem was Stephen, cute as a button! Then there was John. He would climb out of his window at home and walk along the second story roof.  Boy, I love that kid! His curly blonde hair, his toothless grin, and those deep brown eyes that penetrated right through to my heart.  As much of a challenge as he was, I chose to keep him for the full day instead of the half day preschool session. It was what would be best for him.

When we chose to move back to Ohio, the job I was offerred was that of an special educator for a class of kids with severe mental disorders and behavior issues--the exact thing I had turned down six years before.   It was to be a transition job,to get my foot in the door with the district. I had no clue that I would fall in love.  These kids that many times other staff did not want in their rooms  have given me so many great memories.  For fourteen years, I cared for these kids, or maybe they cared for me. So many good stories, so many good memories: the boy who stole his cousins shoes and brought them to be as a gift for my newborn son, the girl with with hair piece that flew off during morning holding, that began to scream "my hair! my hair" as the entire school turned just in time to see the hair fly across the auditorium.

Long before I was ready to listen, God was preparing me for the the mission He had for my life. It is only through His strength and direction that I have worked with the children He brought to me I look back now and the path that I have taken to get to where I am now, makes me smile. It took me a long time to know what God wanted for me. I am so glad that He is patient and never gives up on me.

In the next few months, a new part of my life mission will begin. I look forward to the relationships, the stories, the challenges that lay ahead.  Only God knows what will happen. So, I will trust Him, because He  has the answers, knows what is best, what will come.

It has been almost twenty years since I laid eyes on Frank.  His face, like many other past students, is still etched into my mind, leaving me to wonder where they are and who they have become. Perhaps when I arrive in Heaven, my Abba Father will share stories of who these little guys and gals became! Until then, when their faces and memories pop into my mind, I will savor the time I had with each of them!

Ebenezer is not a "who"

         Robert was by far the living definition of a juvenile deliquent. He had lost his father at the age of 8. By fourteen, his defiance and path of destrution became too much for his mother to handle. In desperation, she sent her son away in hopes that an apprenticeship would straighten him out. Instead, he plummeted further down his dangerous path. Until one day, at the age of seventeen, with full intent to crash an evangelistic meeting, h showed up at a church.  God worked His love and changed this young boy's heart. By the age of 20, Robert had left his disasterous ways and had become a minister, preaching God's word to others. While preparing a sermon, at the age of 23, God's love inspired Robert to a poem that was later set to music. Today, 250 plus years later, we know this hymn as "Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing."

   A while back, my pastor did a sermon based on this song. This sermon has stuck with me, because of one word: Ebenezer. If you are like me, immediately your mind flashed to your favorite version of the Christmas Carol and you were seeing good 'ol Scooge.  But that isn't the Ebenezer that I mean. In the second verse of the Come Thou Fount, there is a line that states, "Here I raise my Ebenezer..." Again, insert  mental image of a giant hand lifting Scrooge high into the air. Yet, the Ebenezer in this song is a "what" not a "who." 

   In the book of 1 Samuel, the Ark of the Covenant is taken in battle from the Israelites by the Philistines. This did work out so well for this clan! The Ark, did not bring great fortune for the Philistines, instead it brought death and destruction, to the point that the people were beggng for it to be sent back. Eventually, the Philistines loaded it up, sent it back, and called it good. Several years later,  they attacked the Israelites again, looking for an easy victory. Instead, the Israelites called on God's favor, and defeated the Philistines. In honor of this victory and to honor God's hand in this battle, Samuel took a stone, named it Ebenezer, placed it between two cities as a physical reminder of God's help.

Ebenezer-- a stone. A stone whose name literally translates to the "stone of help." It is a physical reminder of what God has brought us through, His holy sovereignty, His divine help,  a reminder of  His ever present, unfailing love.  I'm no expert, but I think by definition, this Ebenezer is way better than a stingy old man! 

I am thankful that like Robert, at the age of seventten, God met me and molded my heart for His love. Since then, God has brought many Ebenezers into my life: songs, passages, sermons, people. But I have to say, my strongest, most readily called on Ebenezer is my first bible. The bible I received before I knew God, that I used to discover Him, that I sought comfort in while learning who I was in Him.  Like Robert, and his struggles, there are times that my heart is "prone to wonder, to leave the God I love."   When I feel lost, and need that stone of help, it is then I open my drawer and pull out this bible. I unzip the faded, stained cover, open it, and begin to absorb the words written inside.  It is filled with notes from those who helped guide me in the beginning of my journey. Passages are highlighted with notes of importance. Prayers are written in the margins. It is there, in this book that I am able to ground myself again, refocus myself. It is in its pages that I am drawn to bow my heart before God, admit my never ending need for His divine guidance and ever plentiful grace. It is there that I can quiet my heart, drowned out the distractions, and remember why I so desperately need to fall face down infront of my God. To anyone else, this bible is just that, the written word of God. And while I know and ackowledge that, I also know that at times, it is the Ebenezer I so desperately need in order to find my way back to my Father.

As time passed, Robert fell away from his relationship with God. It is said that at one point, he encounted a woman on a stagecoach, obliviousy to who he was. Somehow,  in conversation, she quoted words from the song to him. He then told her that he was the man who wrote that song and how he would give anything to feel what he had felt when he was walking with the Lord. To this, it is said she replied, "Sir, the "streams of mercy" are still flowing."  I am not sure if Robert ever discovered the Ebenezer that he needed in order to renew his relationship with God.I would like to think that this woman's gentle reminder was the Ebenezer he needed.  For me, I am grateful for each Ebenezer I encounter, that keeps me my heart bowed, and my eyes focused upward!