When the Mountains Don't Move (SQL)

We stood over his bed and prayed fervently. We prayed intensely for healing, just as we'd done over so many in the hospital a couple of days prior. The same refrain that has come from countless groups

I've been a part of that have interceded for healing played, as whispered petitions filled the quaint dwelling we found ourselves in. Once again, as has seemingly always been the case when I pray for diseased and bed-ridden people, we left a man lying in his bed, not yet healed.

It was our third week in Honduras, and the team I was visiting for the week, was in the midst of the final week of ministry of their second month. We'd joined the pastor and doctor for a house visit to see... let's call him, Alejandro. Alejandro was a skeleton with skin to the naked eye. He laid in his bed, emaciated, a blanket covering his diapered mid-section and homemade colonic bag, which appeared to be not much more than a plastic baggy held on with scotch tape. It's fair to say he wasn't in great shape, and yet he still found the ability to smile.

After the group prayed, all but three of us went outside.

Our task? ...to help roll him over and lift him as his bed sheets and diaper were changed, and as his wounds were cleaned.

Ya see...when a body lies still in one place for a while, it starts to develop sores. Alejandro was no exception.

After laying in his bed for a long stretch, his sores were presumably worse than at any other time in the 10 years since he'd fallen and lost all movement below the waist. In that time his legs had become intensely dry, the skin was cracking, and he'd developed some pretty intense sores in some pretty delicate places.

I found myself overcome by the intense smells, but I had to put myself in my place.

I was here for 20 minutes and could walk away.

This man and his family had been dealing with the smell and far worse for 10 years. I couldn't be a pansy about this. How selfish was it of me to even internally complain about something so minor?

We helped him be cleaned, and spoke with him in the process to make it as un-awkward as possible.

He said he believed he could be healed and we prayed again for healing. This time, even in the manner that Jesus did where we told him to take up his mat and walk...and yet...nothing, at least not visibly.

He'd mentioned earlier that he had not birth papers. Near the end, I mustered a joke about everyday possibly being his birthday, which meant he could tell everyone to treat him nice every day because,

"Hey, today might be my birthday." He seemed to love it and laughed. I enjoyed the opportunity to bring what is allegedly "the best medicine," but, nonetheless, as we walked out that day, the fact remained...Alejandro did not.

This is not the first time in my life I've been torn by a prayer for healing not being answered.

I've often thought it potentially selfish of me, which is why I even pray that people be healed after I leave, and I have hope that some of those prayers have since been answered.

But it's tough to understand.

It's a tough metaphorical pill to swallow.

But ultimately, while we are not called to faithless prayers, we are simply called to make our prayers and petitions known. We are told that the Lord will hear them and meet our need, but we are not told to pray because of the "effectiveness" of our prayers.

Our faithful and expectant prayers, especially when made in the face of seemingly insurmountable odds, and all the "let-downs" of the past are ultimately glorifying to our God, even if we, and/or those we intercede for never find the hoped-for-fruit of our requests.

Is it still tough walking away from a broken person, who is still broken after my prayer?

...Without a doubt...

...but it's eased by the faith that the Lord is faithful and just to answer our requests, and that it's not my duty to fix someone. Although His methods and timing might not always give me the warm-fuzzies, it's quite frankly not about me, or you, or even the one(s) we are praying for.


Our prayers are an act of trusting obedience, not something to measure a return on investment. What if we had the faith to actually believe that even our prayers could be about something more than the dividends it brings us or those we care about?


Now THAT's the kind of faith that can move mountains, but far too often, the mountain to be moved is looking back at me in the mirror.

So...

Because I want those lame to walk...

                               ...those blind to see...

                               ...those dead to live...

                               ...those lost to be found...

                               ...and so much more...


I need more trips to the mirror accompanied with prayers like, "Jesus... please give me some mustard seeds today...amen!"

The Starkest of Dichotomies (SQL- Guatemala)

Blogs are supposed to have pictures, partly because people have short attention spans, partly because they are "pretty," and partly because they are "worth a thousand words." But there are some things in life that a thousand pictures could not convey...

I hugged her, closed the door, and the car pulled away.

She was off on likely the longest five or six hour journey of life... Some situations are so surreal that you can't ever imagine how you could adequately put them in words, but something in me knew, even before she rode away, that I needed to try. Honestly, even as I'm writing this, I can't help but think that it deserves more...

More feeling...

More words...

More than I can give.

An hour before I was sitting, preparing to read my Bible, Sally walked in... "I need someone with a pastoral heart to come with me..." ...I grabbed my shoes and got Jake as I left the driveway.

Five minutes later we were walking into the casket store, a simple little "Funeraria" with not much in it. Most notably, I could see a sign of the harsh reality that this is all-too-common here; what I would deem as...too many baby caskets.

Unfortunately, when we walked out, the store had one less.

As I we walked back around the corner and past the hospital, I carried this wooden box, trimmed in pink, surrounded by a black garbage bag as Jake and I followed Sally, Mary, and her new friend (whom I would come to find out, had lost one of two newborn twins).

Minutes later, Sally and myself were waiting for Mary and her new friend to come say goodbye to her baby. As we waited, another lady walked by holding a baby. I sat and smiled at the ten month old?as it would smile back full of joy. The change in thee woman's face as she realized what was in the bag beside me was obvious.

There I was...

An empty coffin in a black bag sat beside me, as I leaned against the outside of a room containing the child that would soon be in that coffin.

A tragedy.

Terrible.

Awful.

Words CANNOT describe it.

This baby behind me would never smile, play, laugh, grow up, have a family...

...but in front of me crawled something beautiful: A baby that could smile, could play, could laugh...a baby that can still grow up to have a family.

A miracle.

Wonderful.

Amazing.

Words CANNOT describe it.

And there I found myself...in the midst of perhaps the starkest of dichotomies.

Misery and Joy. Loss and Hope. Death and Life.

The tragedies of life are so gut wrenching, partly?because of the general nature of tragedy, but in part because we have become so accustomed to miracles that we consider them everyday things.  It is when we rub up against the antithesis of these everyday miracles, that we find ourselves seeking for the "Why?"

Often, we seek the "why" so fervently that we bring ourselves into another tragedy, wasting the time of our lives, missing the joys and the miracles we have right before our very eyes.

I didn't choose to squad lead to find myself kneeling and praying over a woman holding her dead baby in a back room of a Guatemalan hospital.  But it happened...

Ariel will never grow up. She won't have the struggles, nor the joys of life. She won't suffer a broken heart, nor have that broken heart mended.  She won't experience any more tears, nor will she experience laughter.  That is about as real as it gets, and things like that form real memories, even if the moments that made them were surreal.

I will remember a mother weeping as she holds her lifeless child.

I will remember carrying that child in a tiny wooden casket concealed in a black trash bag, behind her mother.

I will remember placing that casket into the back of an SUV as that mother prepared to carry her dead baby home...alone...on public transportation.

But I know I know that as tragic as it was, (And it IS utterly tragic beyond words) I will hold to the beauties I saw in the darkness.

I will remember a woman who had lost one twin baby, with another fighting for it's life, spending her time encouraging another woman who'd lost the second baby of her life.

I will remember kneeling and joining 5 others in prayer for a woman holding and mourning for her dead baby, as she sang praises to her Lord Jesus.

I will remember that same woman praying over her new found friend, for strength and her one surviving twin baby.

I will remember that nameless baby that smiled, crawled, and played in front of me.

I will remember the Light that shown in the face of darkness, the Peace the poured out in the face of misery, the life that poured out in the face of death.

SSay Yess To The SS

You know how sometimes cool things happen and you know you SHOULD type about em, but you don't really have the words to express it in as eloquent a way as you'd want?  Of course you don't... your diction is flawless and your vocabulary is expansive.  But some of us (this guy) just have to suck it up and type it out anyway.

Well... About 17 months ago I took off around the world on this whole "World Race" thing you might have heard of.  I was incredibly blessed to journey far and wide with some remarkable people (pictured above) growing in the Lord in large part thanks to the selfless donations of "viewers like you" (However, Juicy Juice did not help sponsor me).  Such support from so many people in the form of prayer, financial, and equipment contributions were so wonderful beyond what my words could say, and allowed me the opportunity to have and share an incredible experience.  For those of you who helped me in that journey I thank you so very much!!!
....... and about 6 months ago I came home.  The end...

False!

Not the end.

I recently found myself at training camp helping in the training process for a new batch of to-be-further-changed world changers.  I was honored to be invited to pour into the second generation S Squad for the week.

These men and women are hungry for the Lord.  They are stepping up to the forefront of vulnerability.  They care for each other deeply.  They are extremely teachable, and are seeking wisdom and discernment from the Lord.  They are going to be used to do mighty things in His name.
And I'm super excited to have been able to spend a week with these wonderful people.

In fact, I was so excited that, when I was offered the chance midweek to go out and serve as their squad leader, and travel with them for the first 5 months of their race... I accepted.  I am humbled to have the trust of the World Race Staff to be blessed with such an honor and responsibility.  I'm thrilled to be a small part of helping to facilitate what God will be doing in the lives of these folks this year as we travel, alongside my co-squad leaders Liz Clem and Dura McKnight.  So after June 30... I'm outta here again.  (Till December-ish... Lord Willin)

As great as it is, it was not an easy decision.

I wish it didn't mean missing more weddings of dear friends, but it does.

I wish it didn't mean missing my pawpaw's 80th birthday, but it does.  

There are people at home that I will certainly miss... a lot.  Seriously.  I'm not joking.  Believe it or not... I don't hate home.  In fact, it's quite the opposite, but the Lord just keeps giving me new lovable people in my life.

In terms of ministry, it is difficult to walk away for another several months from ministry to family, the youth at WestHills Church, from the men in college and fresh out that God has laid on my heart locally, college ministry in general, and to push back other ministries I feel led to be a part of.

Despite these things being tough to walk away from I'm reminded of 3 things.

1. God doesn't need me to work in the lives of all those I've mentioned... In fact, that's what I've wanted for them all along, a ministry not dependent upon me.   

2. I'm walking into an opportunity to disciple some incredibly hungry people through an incredible "once" in a lifetime journey in the Lord.

3.  God is going to grow and prune me through this season in ways I'd not expected and maybe in ways that I'm afraid of.  But if that's what it takes... fair enough.
So, as my on-again-off-again relationship with "'Merica" gets ready to "take a break,"  I'll briefly grieve those things, AND the fact that I'll miss another half season of baseball and the meat of another college football season.  But I'll celebrate the start of a new journey with the Lord and some wonderful people.

OH.... and I almost forgot.  It's my chance to add "international stand up comedian" to my resume.

If you want to help support the new venture.  I have no expectation of it, and I do not deserve it, but I welcome it.  

How might you support this?  Pray. Pray. Pray... and IF that praying leads you to the place where you're led to financially support you can do learn more about that HERE.  I've included tips there to help you make sure your donations are going to the right place, and just a little bit on my heart for not giving to me INSTEAD of other valuable things.

Hey You... Avoid THIS!

THE APPETIZER

I recently posted this link on Facebook discussing the potential court martial of people who share their faith in the military... which is shocking I know, because I NEVER post links to Facebook.  Some of you, no doubt, have seen it.

As is often the case, a conversation ensued, following my request that those who don’t like it sign the petition available to express disagreement, because, as we all know, the world’s problems are solved with electronic signatures, Facebook profile pictures, and Twitter avatars.
 

I was then asked… “Constitutionally speaking, do you feel like religion should be a part of our military in any form?”

My retort was… “’Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof;...’"

Then I was prompted with this… “Maybe if everyone was respectable about it, I could potentially agree with your point of view. But since that's not always the case, I can't help but think it's just better to keep them separated.”

That is a level-headed and respectable response… which elicited the following thoughts which I can’t  easily contain in a “comment” box on Facebook.  So I wrote this, because, as we all know, for the few world crises that the aforementioned things can’t solve, a blog will finish the job.
 

THE ENTREE

I understand the frustration with the respectable part, but the constitution makes no mention of censoring speech to what is “respectable,” otherwise we’d be able say nearly nothing especially in “Generation Politically Correct.”  Additionally, I agree; I wish people, in general, were more respectable about the whole thing.  In fact, I would submit that it might be altogether more effective and well-received in many cases.
 

However, I do understand the mindset of a man who sees someone who is (as best he can tell) about to be hit by a car.  This bystander isn't afforded with an opportunity to be both delicate in the delivery of his message AND effective.  He doesn't have the luxury of lengthy contemplation based on the potential fear of offending the man, by making it seem like he (the bystander) thought the man to be foolish enough to put himself in harm’s way.  The most loving and respectable thing that bystander can do is act with fullness of conviction at risk to himself and yes, even the other man's opinion of him.

Coincidentally enough, the same holds true even if the bystander has a history of playing in the road.  Just as his own poor decisions in the past are no reason for him to hold his tongue; nor would it serve this bystander well to consider that his well-intentioned gesture of “heroism” will then afford him some special immunity from being struck by a car should he decide to return to play in the road afterward. 

Furthermore, it would behoove the man in presumed immediate danger to thoroughly take measures to ensure his own safety rather than standing stubbornly, angry at being warned by a known road player.  I might even go so far as to say… should the man in assumed danger not immediately find himself in danger by his estimation, that he should be:   

a. grateful that a man sought his well being (even IF wrong)
AND
b. continually mindful of his state seeking to make sure he doesn’t wander into oncoming traffic, even if he doesn’t see any coming at the moment.                     

I am reminded of this story of Charles Peace a thief and murderer sentenced to death....                                 

He was taken on the death-walk. Before him went the prison chaplain, routinely and sleepily reading some Bible verses. The criminal touched the preacher and asked what he was reading. “The Consolations of Religion,” was the reply.

Charlie Peace was shocked at the way he professionally read about hell. Could a man be so unmoved under the very shadow of the scaffold as to lead a fellow-human there and yet, dry-eyed, read of a pit that has no bottom into which this fellow must fall?

Could this preacher believe the words that there is an eternal fire that never consumes its victims, and yet slide over the phrase without a tremor? Is a man human at all who can say with no tears, “You will be eternally dying and yet never know the relief that death brings”?

All this was too much for Charlie Peace. “Sir”, he addressed the preacher, I do not share your faith.  But if I did – if I believed what you say you believed – then although England were covered with broken glass from coast to coast, I would crawl the length and breadth of it on hand and knee and think the pain worthwhile, just to save a single soul from this eternal hell of which you speak.”

                                                                                         -Ravenhill

We live in a world that is, increasingly ever-ready to look for the good intentions of others and good hearts of others to excuse “misdeeds.”  The exception, seemingly, may often occur in the case of a Christian who, though they may be so torn with the same passion for a soul, as described by Mr. Peace, that he/she would share what they fundamentally and wholeheartedly believe to be the most vital piece of news someone could ever receive, yet might fail to do so in an attractive, tactful, or politically correct way. 

The Christian should by all means seek to make our words salt, but we also know what we are to expect.  In most cases, NO ONE likes being wrong,  being told their wrong, or even the thought that they might be wrong  especially when it comes to major life issues(and if you prove me wrong on that statement… I won’t like it).  

I admit that there are certainly those among us who fly the “Christian” banner, yet are not what any of us could accurately call a good ambassador for Christ.  At times, we can even find ourselves being that person if we’re objective.  As Christians, we are sometimes too timid or, at other times, it is our pride that fuels our insistence that someone (or some lifestyle) is a path to Hell rather than genuine concern for a soul.

Certainly, from a Christian perspective, I much prefer that we make a consistent habit of coming from a heart of love and being “tactful” where possible.  However, at the same time there is an inherent sense of urgency within the basic framework of Christianity that we must address if we profess, as the story about Mr. Peace so poignantly alludes.

We (PRETTY MUCH EVERYBODY) don't always do the best job of discerning how to be in situations.  It’s one of the main things we share.  Some people(regardless of religious affiliation) are too thin-skinned about being told that someone else firmly believes their viewpoint is wrong.  Perhaps this is because of a stigma created by many people falling too much to the harsh side of the spectrum, but what seems more evident is this: 

We have created, as it appears, a generation or 2 (at least) that are nearly filled to the rafters with people that are either defensive or afraid that they will offend a defensive person… or worse… both.

We are indeed in a vicious cycle as nation on both sides, and we must admit that nearly all of us have had a part in it.  With this vicious cycle in place, it’s no mystery why one would feel a tendency for separation and avoidance.  However, we must not run from the conflict at hand.  Rather, we’d be better served learning how to face it in a healthy way as individuals and as a society.  We mustn’t run, because we fear offending or being offended, but rather be a people actively working toward a genuine dialogue that deals with the fact that we don't agree.  If we are to succeed, we must certainly seek to achieve this in non-evasive ways, even in the face of the natural friction that comes with disagreement.   This piece of "legislation" is merely another step of avoidance for our nation that feeds both a victim mentality and murders open discourse of ideas and faiths.

It is awfully telling that statements of opinion and belief have been classified, seemingly automatically, as hate.  Our society begs and pleads for “tolerance” of differences, all-the-while not tolerating a key difference, and now we try to wash the difference under the rug.  “Go to your room.”  “Don’t talk about that here,” because heaven forbid someone might get offended.

Are we 12 years old?

This is a fairly clear slap in the face of the Christian and the non-Christian alike.  It says that we are so unable to handle things in a healthy way that we NEED our government to censor the dialogue which strikes at the heart of the first amendment both religiously and in terms of free speech.  We are adults.  We are not children (unless you're literally a child).  We may act like it sometimes, but children won’t likely mature if they’re always treated like children.  We must be allowed to stumble.  We must be allowed to fall and have strife.  Otherwise there is no “freedom,” and isn’t that what our soldiers are supposedly fighting for anyway?

"I'm Good" is Garbage: "The Takeaway"

[IF YOU HAVEN'T READ ANY BACKGROUND ON THIS YOU CAN FIND  PART 1: "THE LEAD UP" AND PARE 2: "THE STREETS".]

I have 5 main takeaways from this experience.

1.  Many people ask, “How could a good and loving God let bad things happen to good people?”  I’ve heard this cry from people before as to why they refuse to follow the Christian God.  Well, God has called us to act, to be His hands and feet.  It makes no sense for us to cross our arms in disgust at a “good” God, as we sit upon what we falsely assume to be a moral “high ground” doing NOTHING!  (Don’t get me wrong, we can’t earn our way into relationship with God, but the fruit of His children certainly isn’t idly letting evil occur).

2.  Some people might not be cold, but might have the misconception that they can’t help, or just may not know how.  The majority of us can’t claim ignorance of the problem, but some of us are lazy enough that we don’t find out how to help, so we chose to remain ignorant of how to be a part of the solution.  I've certainly been guilty of this.  If we don’t chose to learn.  We chose ignorance.  There is no excuse, particularly in this country, to not be able to find information.  Too often we don’t seem to care enough to overcome our laziness to learn how we can help.  Ultimately, there are many pretty simple ways to help, but it takes a little effort.

3.  We can no longer assume that evil lives in the shady alleys of inner cities and in the dark corners of the far reaches of the world.  We can no longer think that evil makes its home in meth labs and strip clubs.  Certainly it dwells there, but evil has set up camp along “the fence” of inaction that has found its way deep into our neighborhoods, schools, workplaces, and even our churches.  The war has been longstanding, and the battle is at our doorstep.  It’s not confined to slavery, but it certainly includes it.  While we can’t do it on our own, we are called not to omission, but rather with a sense of intentionality and ownership.

4.  This is for those that do help and do care.  We cannot hold bitterness in our heart against the people who don’t care.  We must believe that even our will to do good and love others isn’t inherently something in us.  We didn’t create it.  We didn’t will ourselves to have a heart.  All good things in our lives, including the times when we get it right in our intentions, have been given to us by Him.  So rather than having anger at those people we must pray for them to have their hearts prodded and softened by Him, and furthermore for our hearts to be softened as we look for what more we can do to help.  And it should turn us to praise Him for moving us from the prison of seeking ourselves, and seek to not lock ourselves back up in that prison cell.  We have no room to stand on a “Holier than thou high ground,” lest we become the ones filled with callousness and pride.

5.  In the face of evil, “I’m Good” is garbage.

"I'm Good" is Garbage: "The Streets"

[YOU CAN FIND PART 1 HERE.]

The Streets:   We stood on the street corners for those that are forced to work the corners, dark alleys, and backrooms.  We spoke out for those confined to cages and locked rooms, many of which have been there since younger than 10 years old, and some of which STILL are younger than 10 years old.  We were a face for those forced to be soldiers, and for those forced to work fields, brick factories, or even to service, what usually amounts to, man after man after man sexually.  We didn’t free any of them directly, but we were trying to enlist “civilians” in the battle.

“Men, women, and, worst of all, children are literally forced into labor and sex slavery, and you can help just by knowing what to look out for,” was more or less our refrain of the weekend.

“I’m good.”

“I’m Okay.”

“No thanks.”

Those words served as the all-too-frequent echo we’d hear back, as if we were offering information on some new cell service plan.

Photo Courtesy: http://atldailyphoto.blogspot.com/2009/07/downtown-at-night.html

I certainly know that the people in town those nights are not ALL Americans (or for that matter people), but I fear that the sample of different races and socio-economic statuses from all over the country, including Georgia, New York, Kentucky, Ohio, Michigan, and Kansas among  others is all-too-telling of where we stand as a people.

We have the misconception that the major atrocities in life are entirely the fault of greatly evil men and women, but, as it has been said, all that it takes for evil to prosper is the inaction of “good” men and women.

The fact is, a great deal of us are selfish people, concerned with what’s in our little bubble, and not much beyond it.  This couldn’t have been more clearly echoed than in this interaction with a man walking by after he’d turned down my request  to take some information on how he could help fight modern day slavery, in which I’d stated that it happens to children as well.

Me: (In a non-demonstrative tone) “This could happen to anybody sir.  If it was your daughter or something you’d certainly want others to help.”

Guy: “I’ve got two boys.  I’m good.”

Those words echo deeply within me and put an awful taste in my mouth about humanity.  How heartless can someone be?  What kind of “men” would these boys grow to be with such faulty, self-centered leadership in their lives?  And what of their children?  I had to fight the urge to lash into this man with a tirade that would make a drill instructor think I’d gone overboard with my litany of “colorful words.”  Rather I took the “high ground” and settled for a “nice” passive-aggressive comment, which I heard un-lovingly come from my mouth all-too-much on this weekend.

But the truth is, are his words, as horrible as they are, any more detrimental than simple inaction?   They are certainly no less helpful.

Then there’s the woman and her husband, who when I asked, “Do you really not care about these people who are slaves?” turned.  She looked me dead in the eye and said, “No.”

Before you jump to conclusions about these people, you wouldn’t be able to pick them out in a line up if you tried.  You might think respectable middleclass white-folks would care, being shocked and outrage at atrocities happening in their back yard.  Nope.

You might think that African-Americans, only a few generations removed from slavery themselves, would almost all certainly have a soft spot for something so closely tied to their ancestry.  Nope!

You might think young people were more progressive in wanting to “fight injustice.”  Nope!

You might think older people with children and grandchildren would be more moved driven by understanding of the love of a parent.  Nope!

Unfortunately, the only thing most of them shared other than being American basketball fans was that they, in large part, simply did not care about the plight of others.

Some were belligerent.

“You’ve got to be kidding me!” or “Nice sign douchebag,” in response to my sign that simply said “Slavery Is Not Dead”

Others were more concerned with developing a “witty” comment, which I can only imagine made them feel creative in some way.  However, let me assure you… not a single one had an ounce of anything near what you could accurately call “clever.”

Then there were the responses that were so ignorant that they can incite laughter for a moment until you realize the depravity of heart that it represents.

One man sporting a Wichita State shirt walked by my “Slavery Is Not Dead” sign and said something that amounted to, “They can get jobs.  That’s what they can do.”

Really?!!!  “They can get jobs?”  That’s the contribution?  Well, no one ever thought of that!  Praise God! Those lazy, lazy slaves!  Problem solved… Get to work bums!  Let’s move on!

A middle aged man sporting some Syracuse gear, saw my sign provided some good insight, “Yes it(slavery) is (dead). Read a book!”

What?  You mean I’ve been living a in a lie?  It’s not real?  I’m going to go pick up some R.L. Stein and put this matter to bed!

The best way to categorize what the reactions of most said about their hearts those nights is, “It’s not my problem. So I don’t care.”  And I fear this to be all-too-often the refrain of what our actions, or more commonly inactions, cry out.  We must analyze ourselves to find where we share this trait in our lives and prayerfully eradicate it back to the Hell from which it came.  Too many of us live on the fence on this issue.  Thinking it’s a problem while sitting on the fence is not acceptable.  There is no ROOM for a fence here.

There were some people who were grateful for what we did, and they certainly served as a glimmer of hope in a mass of people who just coldly went about their business.  Some of the most open people were taxi drivers, miles ahead of business men, college students, and men with their families.  Let that roost in your brain they next time you think about the creepy taxi driver stereotype.

I’m thankful for all of these people who cared and I hope their light is not quenched in the mass of people who would have certainly been more up in arms if I’d made a statement on either side of the debate about gun control or homosexual marriage, than the bondage and rape of countless boys and girls (not to mention the adults).

[TAKE ANOTHER BREAK AND THEN WHEN YOUR ATTENTION SPAN FEELS HEALTHY CHECK OUT PART 3: "THE TAKEAWAY" ]

"I'm Good" is Garbage: "The Lead Up"

Preface: A few weeks back I posted, “Calling All Men (and Women).”  This is a call back to that event, a reflection on parts of the experience of proclaiming the uncomfortable truth of modern day slavery in Atlanta during the Men’s Final Four.  I don’t pretend to think that human trafficking is the sole problem in the world, but it certainly is atrocious.

Face:   The Lead Up: The idea came to me fairly late in the game, but I must admit some disappointment that there were never more than 2 of us out there (and one person joined me twice).  I’m not saying that I have any more “holy” place than you if you didn’t go.

Now I realize a few things.   I know others were involved in fighting this in other ways this particular weekend.  It was also only a call to be there to men, so women are a little more “off-the-hook.”  Some had other plans already laid out and other responsibilities to attend to.  Some of you aren’t even in Georgia.  Admittedly, I’ve certainly not shared the convictions of others before, and haven’t participated in every little thing, nor should anyone.

I’m just being vulnerable in that it was a bit discouraging to think that I certainly would have had an easier time, even amongst believers, of getting men’s attention and participation if I’d proposed a cookout for the same time period or suggested a trip to the Braves game.

Now, none of those things are wrong.  In fact, I’d love to be able to do any of those things with many of you sometime very soon.  And, although I am expressing my discouraged heart at those facts, I want to iterate that the time in Atlanta was obviously, ultimately, 0% about me.

It also wasn’t encouraging to hear from a, what I’ve at least suspected to be, Christian organization that the first paragraph of my last blog was basically “all JESUS” and not what they thought they should be pushing right now.  (No.  I will not tell you the name, so don’t bother asking).  Perhaps there is more at play than I understand, and I don’t want to discount the work they do in fighting great injustice.  However, it was discouraging, because I know that for many of us Jesus is what has moved our hearts to this, why are we suddenly ashamed of His name, when we claim that He is THE Answer?  Instead of taking time trying to figure out what the name of this organization is, we’d be better served finding the areas that we’ve taken Jesus out of.

I was, however encouraged at the, at least positive response by others expressing their support.  And I was incredibly proud to stand and walk the streets beside Sean Waggoner and Arden De Cuir, and am thankful that they were actually able to join me.  I was also encouraged in that were able to minister and pray with some homeless folks.  I know that this encouraged section is far shorter than the discouraged section.  However, do not let this sell short my appreciation for what support this received.

[TAKE A BREAK…STRETCH YOUR LEGS AND SUCH AND COME BACK AND READ PART 2
"THE STREETS"  IT’S BETTER THAN THIS FIRST PART.]

Calling All Men... (And Women)

This is an Event… Not just a blog to read.  There is a call to action.

The Problem: Sin, but let’s narrow that down for a moment… Labor and sex slavery.  It’s real.  It’s here.  Yes, even the great “Christian Nation” America is not immune from this black spot on our species.  Men, women, and children are slaves.  They are forced into labor.  They are forced into sex.  Beyond that, even their captors and those that purchase their “services” are slaves, not in a physical sense, but at the VERY LEAST in a spiritual sense, living their lives chasing a lie and in the process enslaving others as a result of their chasing of “self.”  We have the tendency to hate them, but we must remember we have been forgiven of much, and if THAT is not enough let us look to the use and transformation of Saul/Paul (a murderer and persecutor of the church), David (murderer and adulterer), and Moses (murderer), amongst many others.  What if we were able to not only mobilize those ignorant or indifferent to this, but also turn the people creating demand and the captors into rescued, rescuers?

The Problem Localized: The Men’s NCAA “Final Four” Basketball Tournament is this weekend in Atlanta, Georgia.  At first glance you may wonder what this has to do with anything.  Major sporting events, specifically the World Cup, Super Bowl, and “Final Four” are just as lucrative or more anticipated from a trafficker’s perspective.  These events often bring large amounts of men, many of which are “out with the guys.”  Many of these men are slaves to sexual sin and they drive the demand for women and children to “work.”  This is so major that excess supply must be brought in to meet this excess demand.  Chances are… if you are in or near Atlanta, women and children have already been or will be brought past you to Atlanta for this upcoming weekend.  Only to be shipped back out again next week to face horrors in yet another place for the almighty dollar that has been given a greater value than their lives.

The Solution: Well, there are many things we can do, but we’ll narrow that down for a moment as well.  PRAY!  And that’s just what we plan to do.  We need you ALL to pray.  But we’re calling for more.  We are calling for Men!  Men we want you to come to Atlanta this weekend (Friday, Saturday, Sunday, and Monday nights... YOU DON'T HAVE TO DO EVERY NIGHT... You can do one, four, or anything in between).  We want you to join us in the streets of Atlanta praying and praising the Lord, for He dwells in the presence of His praises.  We want you to join us on the streets thru the nights praying and sharing Christ’s love.  Surround the Dome, the hotels, filling the streets, in big groups and in small (Never leave the sight of at least 2 other men with you!)

Why “just” Men?”: First off, it’s not JUST men.  Yes, this time we are asking for just men to come to the city.  But we, and those involved, certainly will need the prayers of men and women too.  We implore you all men not coming and all women to pray before, during, and beyond this event wherever you are.  Secondly, the aim at this event is more toward the men.  The men are the biggest part of the problem.  Men are the majority of the demand, and men are the majority of the captors, especially at the Final Four.  So we are praying and seeking conversations with men in town for the event.  We are seeking to share the problem with them, and to share the Gospel.  This is best done man to man, just as women minister better to women.  Be praying that we can jam up the demand for trafficking this weekend.  Thirdly, this is potentially dangerous, because something can happen to men, as well as women, and we’ve never done this before.  We want this to be a template for future “Trafficking Jams,” in which we hope to have even more people out, including women.  But this is kind of a trial run for us, and we want to be wise in what we do, because this is new to us.

What this is:  It is an opportunity to share the love of Christ and to be intercessors.  It’s an opportunity for a message to be sent that we will not stand for what has been wiped under the rug for far too often and far too long.  This is an opportunity to call people out of darkness, bondage, and death, whether it be physical, emotional, or spiritual, into life and life to the full.  It is an opportunity to spread the word and resources to free those in bondage.  Be creative, talk to people who are there to watch the games.  Talk to hotel, taxi, and service workers.

What this is not: This is not an opportunity to be annoying!  This is not an opportunity to shout at people!  This is not an opportunity to condemn!  This is not a protest, we are taking a stand!  This is NOT a rescue mission!  If you suspect trafficking contact the National Trafficking Hotline (1-888-3737-888).   Do NOT try to be a hero!  Victims and concerned citizens can now send text messages to “BeFree” (233733) and instantly connect with the National Human Trafficking Resource Center (NHTRC) hotline (1-888-3737-888), operated by Polaris Project. (see more at http://www.polarisproject.org/media-center/press-releases/757-texting-increases-human-trafficking-victims-access-to-help ).

Do NOT go off by yourself (Try to stay in eyeshot of AT LEAST two other men)!  Do not stay somewhere if you have an altercation. Leave, call the authorities if necessary, but get out (obviously follow your discernment, but we don’t encourage anyone to do anything that will endanger yourselves or others).  If you are trying to rescue a victim you will likely endanger them and yourselves.  The best thing to do is to call the hotline mentioned above.

Why the hotline? :  There are several reasons.  One is that many trafficking victims will likely be identified (at least initially) as prostitutes by choice and treated as criminals rather than victims.  Many local authorities aren’t properly trained to deal with trafficking.  Additionally, calling the hotline will turn the situation into a more full scale investigation.  This leads to more rings and “big fish” being taken down, as well as more victims being rescued and given the care they need, which comes with being identified as victims.  

Remember… this is a call to action, not just a blog.  If you are interested please email traffickingjam@gmail.com   for meeting spots or more detailed ideas of what we are looking for.  If you don’t wanna meet in the same spot where the men I’m with are meeting feel free to take the same spirit and a group of men wherever you meet.  Just remember… parking will be a nightmare.  Park smart, remember Marta shuts down at midnight or so to the best of my knowledge.

If you want more information on trafficking you can check out the following resources (there are many more).

If you plan to come it would be advisable to check these out.
Carry the Light!
www.acf.hhs.gov/trafficking
http://enditmovement.com
www.ijm.org
www.notforsalecampaign.org (helps you tell if the products you buy fund labor or other slavery)
www.polarisproject.org
http://purehope.net/resources/
http://www.salvationarmyusa.org/usn/www_usn_2.nsf/vw-dynamic-index/8081A4079639D55A802573E000530965?Opendocument
http://www.nightlightinternational.com/atlanta/
http://www.nightlightinternation.com
http://www.notbuyingit.org
http://www.livingwaterforgirls.org/
http://www.innocenceatlanta.org/about/our-story/
http://humantraffickingatlanta.wikidot.com/

Here is a video that is very telling as well.  Not made by me, but so much the same heart.

http://vimeo.com/32011780

No Pun Intended (WR)

#ParagraphsThatMakeYouWantToReadABlog…?  à A large part of this blog is obligatory.  It’s the last month I have to write.  I honestly can’t write with full candidness-ity-tion of this month for me, but I’ll put what I can.  But don’t get me wrong.  It’s not like blog-able or blog worthy things didn’t happen.  In fact, it’s only because I think so highly of people this month that to not talk a little about them would be quasi-garbage, that I’m writing… errr typing… this.  If they’d been an ounce less awesome your eyes would be spared.

All that to say… if you’re looking for “one of my finer writings” scroll to a different blog, but if you actually wanna know a little about the Philippines… stand by…

*waits for the poser blog readers to dip out*

Our contacts are wonderful and the ministry fabulous.

The Philippines is just one of those places that, if you’ve been to it, that you can’t help but love, unless you suck.  (maybe that’s unfair to people who don’t suck, but have no sense of appreciation for awesome things in Indian/Pacific Oceans, but it is what it is)

We rolled into Kid’s International Ministries (KIM), in the wee hours of the Manila morning to set up camp in our 4 day home.  The majority of my time wasn’t spent there, but it’s totally a place I could see myself in the future.  These folks have it together and you should probably jump at any chance you get to work alongside them for the kingdom (shameless plug complete).

The Saturday after our arrival 3 of our teams boarded a plane and headed south to the island of Mindinao.  1 team stayed in the city we flew into, but the two of us were whisked off to Mt. Moriah Camp, and the city of Malaybalay to meet our new family made up of a ton of Filipinos, a few South Africans, and a few Americans.

The Filipinos
Seriously… where do I begin?  We were so well served, honored, and loved …from Donald to  Oprine (or is it ofrine, or oprina, or ofrina???) , to pastor Larry and his wife (whose name I can spell about as well as Oprine, but it’s pronounced buh-lin), to Glenn and Grace, to Jojo and PR.  All of these people are leading and serving so well and made us feel right at home.  Then there’s all the college students and leaders… Dax, JR, Rose, Kennel, heck I don’t even know why I’m trying to list them there are so many, and they are all so awesome that it makes my heart warm to think about them (or maybe that’s just my body heat, but still…)  Oh and that doesn’t even count the children’s home kids, staff, drivers, and so on.

The Philippines is RICH! An abundance of some of the greatest people on earth call Malaybalay home and I’m truly blessed to know them.

The folks who are from South Africa and such
There’s Gcccccccerard (only because he loves it pronounced wrong)… or as he would say “G, just G, nothing else because you’ll only say it wrong.”  There’s Janno (pronounce ya- nu) and shan (pronounced sh-an, without the hyphen).  They’re pretty great folks and have all stepped out on their own journeys to be discipled, to disciple, and to grow in and serve the Lord thru serving others.  That journey brought them individually here at the same time, but God has such big and mighty plans for each one.

The Americans
Mark and Ellie had every reason not to leave America.  They were in their 50s.  They had a home.  They had a family.  He had a great job.  They had a wonderful church.  Then God busted it all open and brought their hearts to this place on the other side of the world that they now call home.  Thru some heartbreak, but ultimately obedience they have been brought to such joy by being able to serve and love the children of the children’s home at Mt. Moriah, who so desperately need love.



Then there’s William and Tara Miller (former racers)… Bill (he never goes by that) is a man after my own heart (even up to his love for SEC football, just a slight tweak in the team selection and we’d be dead on, but at least it’s not Florida, Tennessee, or Auburn).  He also happens to be one of only a handful of men that I’ve ever met who can rock a pony tail without looking like a tool.  And Tara?  No big deal, she went on the race, fell off/thru a roof into a space barely big enough to be her coffin.   It wasn’t.  She went on the race again, and became this little 4ft 3 inch spirit filled fireball.  They were wed and now spend their life empowering the young people of the Philippines.  I feel like with these two I’ve got people I can gel and relate with as long as we keep changing oxygen into carbon dioxide… Lord Willin’.

So there…

I’ve given you a little bit about so many people that I could have written full blogs about individually.  I hope that one day you could get to know them too and write your own blog about it.  But until then congratulations for finishing one of the worst blogs I’ve ever written dedicated to some of the best people I’ve ever met.

Seems kinda backward… no pun intended.