It is about 11:30pm at the writing this blog. I woke up about a half hour ago after a nap to a dozen new mosquito bites and a decent covering of equitatorial sweat. I tried to fix my little mosquito net on the bottom of my bunk, but it is too small and the bed above is too low, so the net just touches me anyways. I wormed my way in and lay there annoyed. It was too hot in here. My little foam matress caves in and feels gross because I don't have a sheet. I can barely roll over because half the bed has stuff on it. That happens when you have more people than beds and more backpacks than floorspace. I don't have any shorts to sleep in because of lost luggage.
I thought about my big flat, cool, soft bed at home and was bitter about the situation. So I did what any self-respecting, well-disciplined person would do and got up in a huff to drown my miniscule complaints in high calorie foods. I knew as I hurdled the pile of things on the floor in our little room and opened the creaky door that on the otherside of the hall, in the little kitchen, there would probably be some Presdident's Choice Decadednt chocolate chunk cookies and milk. Ya, right. So I put this jam that comes in a can onto some bread, but it was so hard on the edges that the middle broke and made a mess. Then I poured a glass of warm whole milk that turned out to be chunky and gulped it down. Going back to my room I knew there was nothing to do in my awakeness.
I recalled some of the events of the day. We went to a hospital with a few passionate young people from the church. We prayed for a variety of people in the men's ward and talked with them. There was this one fourteen year old boy that looked particularly strange. The pastor with us stopped and said God told him that they must pray for this boy. He called us all together - in his own words, not something he usually does. Jake said that one side of his body felt weak. I could barely catch my breath. Something was going on. We found out that he had originally been diagnosed with pneumonia, but now he could not speak and his left side was completely paralyzed.
About ten of us knelt around this boys' bed and started to pray. The boy lay there with strange eyes. It became obvious to each of us in different ways that this boy was demon possessed. We were all quiet, but our words came with authority. Haden wept. And then, ten minutes later the boy moved his left leg! With a little support he sat up and a smile went from ear to ear on his face. He didn't look dillusional anymore. He outstreached his hand to each one of us and shook our hands. We smiled and left.
So, sensibly, here I am, all concerned about getting malaria, seeking something to satisfy my hunger when I saw a miracle TODAY! I've learned that faith has very little to do with the miracles you see, the impossible coincidences that occur or the intensely spiritual experiences that come your way. We will always think we need more proof. I'm at the point where looking at my life, the logical conclusion to draw is that Jesus is EVERYTHING that the bible says He is. It's beautiful that I have been blessed with so much "evidence," but faith still comes down to the heart - to overcoming the stubborness of my mind that Satan delights in.
All this starts me pondering how illogical my response is to the Gospel. I believe in heaven and hell. I believe in redemption and wrath... And yet, my urgency to become radically committed to and bodly engaged in the work of the Body of Christ is pretty hoo-hum. Satan tells us that eternity isn't a big deal, that it'll all work out. Satan tells us that conforming to the world will help us minister. Satan tells us that miracles are illogical and that just maybe there is emptiness afterall. He skews are priorities to the extreme that some of us are so disillisioned that we essentially ignore what counts.
"Where your treasure is, there your heart is also."
I personally am not willing to risk believing these lies as the expense of trusting the world with my heart. I am also going to stop praying for miracles all the time, and start praying that truth will consistently reign within my soul.It is about 11:30pm at the writing this blog. I woke up about a half hour ago after a nap to a dozen new mosquito bites and a decent covering of equitatorial sweat. I tried to fix my little mosquito net on the bottom of my bunk, but it is too small and the bed above is too low, so the net just touches me anyways. I wormed my way in and lay there annoyed. It was too hot in here. My little foam matress caves in and feels gross because I don't have a sheet. I can barely roll over because half the bed has stuff on it. That happens when you have more people than beds and more backpacks than floorspace. I don't have any shorts to sleep in because of lost luggage.
OOOPS! The first paragraph got lost again. here it is:
It was the middle of the night, but I couldn't sleep. My half of the bottom bunk was claustriphobically small and my mosquito net kept falling down. I had no shorts to sleep in because all of mine were lost in travel, and the pator's wife was making too much noise on the other side of the wall...
I thought about my big flat, cool, soft bed at home and was bitter about the situation. So I did what any self-respecting, well-disciplined person would do and got up in a huff to drown my miniscule complaints in high calorie foods. I knew as I hurdled the pile of things on the floor in our little room and opened the creaky door that on the otherside of the hall, in the little kitchen, there would probably be some Presdident's Choice Decadednt chocolate chunk cookies and milk. Ya, right. So I put this jam that comes in a can onto some bread, but it was so hard on the edges that the middle broke and made a mess. Then I poured a glass of warm whole milk that turned out to be chunky and gulped it down. Going back to my room I knew there was nothing to do in my awakeness.
I recalled some of the events of the day. We went to a hospital with a few passionate young people from the church. We prayed for a variety of people in the men's ward and talked with them. There was this one fourteen year old boy that looked particularly strange. The pastor with us stopped and said God told him that they must pray for this boy. He called us all together - in his own words, not something he usually does. Jake said that one side of his body felt weak. I could barely catch my breath. Something was going on. We found out that he had originally been diagnosed with pneumonia, but now he could not speak and his left side was completely paralyzed.
About ten of us knelt around this boys' bed and started to pray. The boy lay there with strange eyes. It became obvious to each of us in different ways that this boy was demon possessed. We were all quiet, but our words came with authority. Haden wept. And then, ten minutes later the boy moved his left leg! With a little support he sat up and a smile went from ear to ear on his face. He didn't look dillusional anymore. He outstreached his hand to each one of us and shook our hands. We smiled and left.
So, sensibly, here I am, all concerned about getting malaria, seeking something to satisfy my hunger when I saw a miracle TODAY! I've learned that faith has very little to do with the miracles you see, the impossible coincidences that occur or the intensely spiritual experiences that come your way. We will always think we need more proof. I'm at the point where looking at my life, the logical conclusion to draw is that Jesus is EVERYTHING that the bible says He is. It's beautiful that I have been blessed with so much "evidence," but faith still comes down to the heart - to overcoming the stubborness of my mind that Satan delights in.
All this starts me pondering how illogical my response is to the Gospel. I believe in heaven and hell. I believe in redemption and wrath... And yet, my urgency to become radically committed to and bodly engaged in the work of the Body of Christ is mediocre. Satan tells us that eternity isn't a big deal, that it'll all work out. Satan tells us that conforming to the world will help us minister. Satan tells us that miracles are illogical and that just maybe there is emptiness afterall. He skews are priorities to the extreme that some of us are so disillisioned that we essentially ignore what counts.
"Where your treasure is, there your heart is also."
I personally am not willing to risk believing these lies as the expense of trusting the world with my heart.
