Rock Writers’ Guild

   Myrtle the turtle has a best friend. Actually, she has two best friends but they both live in the same shell. Her best friend Terr is a little bit bigger than Myrtle. Right where her tail should be peeking out of the back of Terr’s shell is the head of Myrtle’s other best friend. Her name is Tell. Terr and Tell look exactly alike because they are twins.

   All the other turtles in the pond make fun of Terr and Tell because they share one shell. They make mean jokes about them because Terr and Tell are different indeed.

   Myrtle met the twins at turtle school in the first grade. She thought the girls were very nice and they were very smart for first graders. They could walk forwards and backwards with grace. As Myrtle got to know them better she learned how to tell them apart by the way they spoke. Terr sounded a lot like Myrtle’s mother when she spoke. She was very sweet and pronounced her words quite clearly. Tell was also very sweet but she rolled her R’s as if there were four R’s in a row in each word.

   “How are you today, my friends?” Myrtle would call out when she saw Terr and Tell.

   “Great thank you.”

   “Grrrreat, thank you.”

   The twins would be sad when the other turtles said ugly things to them but Terr and Tell learned that even the meanest of turtles need to be cared about. When they were alone, they would often pray for the very ones that had been mean to them that day.

   “Heavenly Father, please bless Big Snap. Help him to see the good things in life.”

   “Yes Lorrrd. Please let him feel Yourrrr love today.”

   One day, the third grade class went on a field trip into the forest. Mrs. Shelly, their teacher, wanted to teach them how to find the best berries to eat. The girls were very excited and the boys thought this was a fine time to show off how much they knew about far away places. Turtles don’t usually travel very far away from the pond they live in but the parents gave Mrs. Shelly permission to take the youngsters.

   Off they went, in a direction that none of the students had ever been before. Mrs. Shelly told them that her Granny had taken her along this very path when she was a young turtle. Her Granny knew where all the good berry patches in the forest were and now, Mrs. Shelly knew too. She led the class on a lovely journey through the shady underbrush where  everything was lush, cool and green.

   Terr and Tell and Myrtle walked together enjoying the fresh air and the feeling of being on a grown up adventure. They chattered about how pretty the forest was. They could hardly believe their eyes when they reached the berry patch. The berries were darkest blue and they were so big that they hung off the green branches until they almost touched the ground. Mrs. Shelly said that they could each eat some of the berries. She taught them to be considerate enough to leave some for other hungry turtles who might come along.

   As the class began to eat the tasty berries, one of the classmates named Boxer saw a strange glow through the green bushes.

   “Hey”, shouted Boxer. “What is that orange light flickering through the bushes?”

   At once, Mrs. Shelly called all the youngsters to come and make a circle. She began to count the children to make sure they were all with her and then, she spoke in a strong and steady voice.

   “You must all stay together with me. That is a forest fire and it can spread very quickly through the underbrush so we must move as fast as we can. I will lead you back to the pond. We will all be safe in the water there.”

   The classmates remained orderly as they all followed Mrs. Shelly along the path that led back to the pond. Terr and Tell were the last ones in the single file row. Myrtle was just in front of them. There was no excited chatter about the lovely scenery now. They were all feeling a bit frightened. In a moment, a tree fell across their path. It was on fire and it blocked the way so they could not get around it. The underbrush all around Mrs. Shelly’s class was catching on fire and it seemed that there was no way out of the ring of fire. Terr was about to panic. “Oh Tell, there is no way out of this fire.”

   “I see the way out, Terrrr! It is in my plain view.”

   As Myrtle turned around to face Terr, she could see behind them. The fire had not spread to their backs yet. Tell shouted to her classmates and teacher, “Follow me!!”

Without turning around, Tell began to run toward a clearing where the fire had not reached. Now it was Terr’s turn to run backwards. Thank goodnes they were so good at it because in her clear, sweet voice Terr called out. “Come this way at once. Terr can see a way out. Come this way!”

   All the class turned and followed Tell and Terr. As they reached the clearing, Mrs. Shelly counted her students. She was delighted that everyone made it to the clearing unharmed. From there, she recognized another path that would lead them to their pond. She rallied her precious youngsters and led them all safely home. 

   Myrtle stood in front of her class and shared her thoughts. about the day. “Terr and Tell are heroes today. If they had not been formed in a way that they could see where they were going and where they had been at the same time, the whole class may have been trapped in the forest fire. If they had not developed the grace to walk forward and backward with ease, they may not have been able to lead us all to the clearing.”

   Mrs. Shelly agreed.

   Big Snap stood in front of Terr and said, ” You guys are so cool. I think being twins in one shell is a good thing. I know it is a good thing for our whole class today.”

   Then he walked around to stand in front of Tell. “God did not make a mistake when He made you. I believe He knew exactly what He was doing. He loves us all very much.”

   The whole class began to celebrate their hero friends by shouting , “Hooray. Hooray. Terr and Tell have saved the day!”

   “Hooray!!” shouted Terr. She was celebrating the answer to their prayers for Big Snap.

   “Prrrraise the Lorrrrd!!” Shouted Tell.

The sunlight filtered in through the curtins in the back bedroom awaking nine year old Bobby Dooley. It was Saturday and Bobby did not need an alarm clock this morning. He through water on his face brushed his teeth ate a bowl of corn flakes and crept past his parents bedroom and scampered down the three flights of stairs. He stoped at the Apartment of Mrs Lubrenski and knocked quietly on the door. Mrs lubrenski owned the three apartment buildings on 48th street in Astoria Queens NY. She was an old lady with sad brown eyes and the gossip on the block was she lost her whole family in a prison in Poland. Bobby liked her and did odd jobs around the buildings for the money to go on his Saturday Adventures. Today he decided to go to the city and visit Central Park. Bobby walked the 12 blocks to the subway station. He passed the Black rock bar and grill where his Father spent a lot of time and money in the basement shooting craps with the older guys. Every one knew Bobby and said hello as they passed him in their big Cadilacs and fancy clothes. Someday that will all be his, after all everything is posible when you’re only nine years old.

 Bobby Dooley rode the train past the factorys and tenements down into the tunnel that ran under the East River and into Manhaten. A whole other world awaited for Bobby on this side of the river. A land of castles and skyscrapers and daydreams as real and gigantic as a land filled with a childs imagination could be. He passed the horse drawn carriges of the livery men that waited for the tourists to pay them for a tour around Central Park. Bobby Dooley knew the park well. He spent a lot of time there By himself playing in the park. He paused in the zoo and watched the lions and pretended to be a great hunter on safari in Africa killing elephants and rhinos and saving the greatful natives from destruction. Afterall any thing is possible when you’re only nine years old.

He passed the lake with the swan boats filled with family having fun on a saturday in April. He dreamed of the day when he would sail the seven seas and resque all the women from the hands of pirates and keep all the loot and buy sodas for the whole world. He walked thru the park and climbed trees and stoped at his favorite statues, crossed the little bridge that led to a path towards the Planeterium where in saturdays past he would become Flash Gordon and visit strange worlds and rocket to the farthest star in the universe Battling Clingons and Martians and saving the world from evil. Afterall you are the bravest and strongest when you are only nine years old.

But today he would visit his most favorite place. The museum of Natural History. Where there were displays of lions and tigers in their natural habitate. Cavemen discovering fire and hunting Masterdons and saber toothed tigers in the jungles of the past. Skeletons of dinesaurs displayed in the halls and even a rattle snake in a case where if you would push the button it would rattle its tail to warn you that it would bite. Little Bobby would become Tarzan of the jungle and swing from trees and play with the monkeys. Bobby Dooley left the building after hours of pretending and crossed the park to the Museum of Modern Art. He had’nt been there for awhile and the last time had seen paintings of flowers and boats by an artist whose name Bobby could’nt remember, But who battled demons and cut off his ear so the world could share his sadness and genus and the beauty only he could see. Someday Little Bobby Dooley would become a great writer and bring tears to the eyes of those who ventured into the mind and fantasys of a lonly nine year old child. Afterall All daydreams were posible when you are only nine years old.

Little Bobby Dooley returned home to Astoria and rode the bus down Ditmars Ave past the factorys and tenements, past the Black Rock bar and grill, past the tough men who smiled and waved to Bobby as he returned from his great saturday adventure. Past his fathers thirty nine Lasalle auto, painted black with gangster running boards, not as new and shiny as the caddys and Lincolns parked on the street outside of the bar but just as big. It must have been Al Capones car little Bobby thought as he got off the bus and made his way down 48th street. He sat on the steps of his tenement until he shivered with cold. He climbed the stairs and knew his family were waiting to hear his story of the great saturday adventures of little Bobby Dooley. They would have turkey for dinner and apple pie for desert and everyone would sing of the adventures of the slayer of dragons and savior of maidens from the ships of pirates.He stepped into the darkened house hoping there were leftovers on the stove. Someday he would sail far away to places with strange names and friendly faces where little Bobby Dooley would be king and wear fancy clothes and big diamonds and ride in big shiney cars and everyone would love him. Afterall everything is posible when you are only nine years old.

I was eighteen years old when I heard my first real Gospel message.  It came strangely.

It was summer, 1983.  We had just graduated high school.  College loomed.  My friends and I were at a local basketball court.  Some other kids and some guy no one knew were there playing.  We all did a pickup game.  We hardly noticed the mystery guy.  He was much older, in his mid-thirties, with straight, sandy hair and glasses;  a burly guy, but he could shoot hoops.  My friends and I all played wildly.  He quietly, but effectively, played too.

It’s funny how the devil uses the lost.  I remember cussing wildly during that game.  I mean, even at the time I knew I was cussing way overboard, using every word in the book, even when it wasn’t necessary, but not knowing way I was doing so.  I can only imagine now what that guy was thinking:  “This kid’s too lost, Lord!  He’s going straight to hell!  I might as well give up doing what I’m thinking about doing ’cause these guys are way over the top!”

 The mystery basketball player did have other motives than a great game of hoops.  We ended.  Some of us complimented him for bringing it on so hard in the game.  We turned to leave, he had the basketball in his hand.  About twenty steps later we heard from behind us something that changed my life forever:  “Hey, guys, can we talk for a minute?”  It was mystery guy.  We all looked at him and back at each other.  We were eighteen year old tough guys.  Who actually wanted to ever just “talk” to us?  This wasn’t “Phil Donahue,” for Pete’s sake. We relented and went back over to him, anyway. 

I remember, he was a little hesitant as we approached him.  But he gathered his confidence, got down on one knee, steadied himself with one hand on the basketball, and asked us:  “Has anyone ever talked to you about the salvation of Jesus Christ?”

 Negatory on that one, Mister.  But he DID, and preach to us he did!  He was from Georgia, had been a bluegrass player for years (already a turn-off to a pagan Led Zeppelin fan), ran the wild life, and was left hurt and empty.  But Jesus saved him, set him free, and he was a new man.  He went on to tell us about the Bible and then the “Rapture.”  I had never in my life heard of the Rapture.  First time.  He said Jesus would return and take all Christians with Him in the air.  They would all disappear.  POOF!  Then he asked us if any of us wanted to pray and invite Jesus into our hearts to save us.

It was at that time that all the demons inside me exploded.  Using my extensive Roman Catholic background (hey, I actually DID pay attention to those priests and nuns at St. Mary’s and all the Catechism teachers in high school CCD!), I argued this guy down into the ground.  Salvation?  Are you nuts?  Rapture?  WHAT?!  And my friends all looked at me like I was crazy, but I argued this guy up one side and down another.  I was quite effective in the devil’s hands, ’cause if one of my friends had been about to accept this guy’s offer of praying for salvation, I was the one standing in their way.  I remember telling this guy to meet us in a bar at ten that night, and that I’d have my brother, who’d been to seminary for six years, to meet us and HE’D tell him like it was too.  He graciously declined.  He was totally floored by my vehement fight against the Gospel.  I think he did manage to get a quick prayer off over us, and then we parted.  He walked away with a little less swagger than he’d had on the court.  And that was MY fault.  We never saw him again.

So that was my first ever exposure to the Gospel.  The thing was, I never, ever forgot it!  Even though I was Damian the 666 Anti-Christ out there on that basketball court in Beaver Falls with that guy, his every word, his Southern cadence, every Jesus Christ seed he put out there, fell deeply into my heart.

Mystery Basketball Player was the digger of hard, fallow ground:  that rock hard, dusty dirt full of stones and weeds and rooty-tendrils that’s never seen a human shovel or pick-axe ever.  That guy, that night, was Holy Spirit’s first attempt to turn over the crusty dirt of my heart and plant the precious seeds of Jesus Christ.  And I proved myself SOOOOO unworthy.  But Jesus graciously planted them anyway… 

     I’ve heard it said that it takes seven contacts with the Gospel message before the average person converts.  I think it took more than that with me, since so many of my first contacts were negative.
    Oddly enough, it was my own words that were the most persuasive witness in my walk towards Christ.
     It came about like this: my grandmother was dying.  She had pancreatic cancer, and by the time they found it she had weeks to live.  I had mixed feelings about my grandmother.  On one hand, she adored me, wrote me, sent me presents, and took my side against my parents.  On the other hand, the woman just plain could not shut up.  She could talk the leg off a table, and I would occasionally sit at her supper table and fantasize about punching her on the mouth so she would finally stop talking.
     But I made arrangements to go up with my boyfriend and see her for a week before the new term at USC began.  I needed John as a buffer between myself and my father.  Our relationship was highly charged and strained.  I was physically afraid of him, and I wanted to have someone there on my side if worst came to worst.  Unfortunately, John’s personality provoked my parents almost past bearing.  It wasn’t an ideal situation.  And it was complicated by the fact that my grandfather was, at that point, nearly dying from long-term alcohol abuse and my grandmother hated his guts. 
     What a cast of characters!  My angry, sarcastic father,  worry-addicted mother, drunk grandfather, dying grandmother, arrogant boyfriend, three young siblings, oh- and a mystery cousin named Pat, who felt that we were all interlopers who didn’t want the best for my grandmother and who told me frequently that I had no idea how my grandmother had suffered in life.
    Pat’s problem was that we were trying to pursuade Grandma to forgive Papa before she croaked and it was too late.  Even though my parents were basically atheists, I think they had some kind of residual moral twinges over dying in a state of bitter hatred and disgust.  I think Pat felt that bitter hatred and disgust were just about what was called for under the circumstances.
    So here we all were, packed in the house on top of each other, trying to smile and be civil and share the bathroom.  And in the downstairs bedroom my grandmother sorted pictures and struggled to eat and fought for breath.  She kept trying to give me and my siblings things.  Her $500 leather coat.  Her diamonds.  Her furniture.  Her car.  Pat kept trying to get us to take them.  My sister and boyfriend wanted everything they could get.  My mother wanted everything saved for Papa.  I didn’t want to think about her dying.  I was scared- scared to death, scared of death.
     I had been terrified of death and the idea of hell for years.  I had recurring nightmares.  And being confronted by it face to face with weeping and forgiveness and last requests was almost too much.  I withdrew from the family and wandered around the house pretending it wasn’t really happening.
     This is all a long prelude to a fairly simple story.  One morning I couldn’t sleep.  I awoke long before the family in the dim blue dawn and crept downstairs.  When I slipped into the bathroom, I found my grandmother crying on the toilet seat.
     “I don’t want to go,” she cried, clutching me, “Everyone I love is here.  I don’t want to die!”
      I was speechless, befuddled, 19 years old with no real religion to fall back on, and terrified of death myself.   How could I comfort her?She held my hands tight.  Her hands were so soft and thin, wrinkled like crepe paper and softer than velvet, softer even than my baby’s hand.
     Finally it occured to me that she was a Christian.  I was a little blurry on the details, but I knew the christians believed in heaven.  So I told her so.  I told her about all her friends and relatives who had died before her, who would be waiting to throw a welcome party when she arrived.  I think I imagined them holding a banner like they were meeting someone at the airport.
     “Really?” she asked me.  “Do you really think so?”
     And I lied.  I lied the biggest, fattest, most brazen and convincing lie I could come up with.  “Yes, I really do,”  I told her.  “And more than that, I need you to go on so that you can be there to welcome me when I come.”
     No sermon ever preached to me about sin or hell or anything could ever have been as convicting to me as those words out of my own mouth.  For years they haunted me.  Had what I said been a lie?  What if it were true?  What if she waited on me and I didn’t come?  Was heaven real?  What comfort could a pagan or an atheist possibly have offered her?  What hope was there for anybody if it weren’t true?
     Maybe you could live a good life, a fun life.  But at the end of it, every single person on the earth would be like my grandmother: frightened and asking what was next and not wanting to go.  If there were no heaven, if there were no afterlife, if there were no God…. then all of life was a cheat and a falsehood.
     It tormented me.  And my promise to her tormented me.  I had promised her that she would go to heaven.  And I had promised to meet her there.
     And now, someday I will.  And I hope to fill her arms with children and grandchildren who have submitted to the cross and taken passage on faith to reach her.  I don’t know if any of my other relatives will ever believe and be saved, but I hope that I and my children will help satisfy her for the ones she lost.   I hope it will be a great family reunion.  I pray that it will.

We were so hopeful as we unpacked the boxes in our new townhouse apartment. Our possessions were few but that didn’t matter. We had escaped the streets of Newark, New Jersey and stood on the doorstep of new possibilities for our little family. The ghetto was merciless and no place to raise children. The mountain communities of South Orange and the distant suburbs Short Hills or Livingston showed us a more desirable reality. One thing was clear: the good life costs a pretty penny.

So we moved six hundred miles south to Wilmington, North Carolina. I thought, “Surely, here I can afford the house and a nice car and make a more comfortable life for all of us.” I believed that God led us to this city and that He would bless us. Hope buoyed us along.

Surprisingly, the niceties of life were not summarily handed to me. Economic reality blew in like a summer thunderstorm. Call it ignorance, naiveté or simple laziness to expect gifts to fall from the sky. Whatever colored my vision did not keep me from seeing that the dreams were become more elusive. The townhouse had now deteriorated with age. Our car grew old far less gracefully. Where was the hope of His promise? Why was His blessing being withheld? I was faithful to serve and give to the church. What was I doing wrong?

Months turned into years and little changed. I watched as others built homes, bought cars, took vacations and sent children off to university. For others, life’s options spread out like a harvest cornucopia. For us, the fruit of our labor was still slim. I tried to keep perspective and trust God for the best. But my trust was crumbling under a mounting weight. Resentment had set in against anyone who seemed to be flourishing. “I’m a Christian,” I told myself, “and I love everyone.” But anger fueled my resentment. I suppressed it, pushed it down into a dark corner of my heart and denied it expression. But because it did not speak did not cause it to leave…or to stop growing. I was a prisoner of full blown bitterness. It had taken root, like some malevolent vegetation gone wild, and threatened to turn and consume me. I was unaware of how truly tragic I had become.

While at my desk at work, I was listening to the radio. A voice came on: “See to it that no one misses the grace of God and that no bitter root grows up to cause trouble and defile many.” I knew he was reading from the Bible, the book of Hebrews. He was talking about bitterness, about me. I was captivated as for the next twenty minutes as he unveiled bitterness for the evil that it was.  I literally trembled in my seat. Then, in an instant, a weight was lifted from me. I saw His grace and mercy and realized how great His love for me was. I rejoiced in the truth and reveled in my new found freedom. “Let all bitterness…be put away from you…be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, even as God in Christ forgave you.” (Ephesians 4:31-32)

Michael Porter © 2007

With no idea which way to turn or what to do, I struggled with fear and apprehension.  I had come to the end of myself.  Self-hatred loomed on my horizon daily, surrounding my every thought and movement. 

It seemed as if the people at this new church we were attending had some answers, but rumors in this small farming community were flying throughout the gospel mill.  They were witches, a cult or just plain crazy.  Others called them, Holy Rollers, or fanatics; warning everyone to stay away.  Yet, when we attended their meetings, I was fascinated by the pastor’s actions during the singing.  He would close his eyes and lift his arms toward the ceiling.  He seemed to have a personal thing going on with GOD! 

We would stay for a few weeks, and then Fred’s preaching cut to the bone and I would run for a season.  How could he know what was hidden deep within my heart?  Yet without fail, he nailed me more than one time. This last time we had stayed away nine months and I was the most miserable person on the face of the earth. 

I needed answers and quick.  Was the place okay or were they all crazy? Was this where Jesus wanted me to come, or did I need to run far and fast?   I had to find out; the limbo was killing me.  I remember that night as clearly as yesterday.  Alone and hidden on the side of my bed, I began crying out for answers, not just casual tears, but deep gut wrenching sobs.

Softly “Isaiah 43” floated into my ears.  At first, I brushed it away.  “Isaiah 43,” came again.  I felt like I was losing my mind on top of it all.  What in the world was Isaiah 43, I didn’t know?  “Isaiah 43” 

Maybe, just maybe, it was a Scripture.  Grabbing my Bible, I flipped to the index and started scanning names.  Isaiah jumped off the page at me.  Maybe, just maybe there would be a 43. If there were, what would it say?  Was this church where God wanted me to be or was I losing my mind?  I flipped to the page listed and began looking for an Isaiah 43. 

Amazingly, it was there. “But now thus saith the LORD that created thee, O Jacob, and he that formed thee, O Israel,” The words said Jacob but I heard my name spoken as I read it.  The Lord created me; I was not just an accident that happened.  He formed me, as incredulous as it sounded. 

“Fear not: for I have redeemed thee, I have called thee by thy name; thou art mine.  When thou passest through the waters, I will be with thee; and through the rivers, they shall not overflow thee: when thou walkest through the fire, thou shalt not be burned; neither shall the flame kindle upon thee. For I am the LORD thy God, the Holy One of Israel, thy Saviour:” 

Answers, I found answers for my weary heart.  He called me by name.  He wanted me.  No matter what happened, He was with me.  He was my Savior.  I had found the place I belong at last.  Everything was going to be all right.  I was home. 

“Raederle said very little, either to Danan or Bri; she was grateful that the mountain-king refrained from questioning her.  He only said gently, with a perception that startled her, “Isig is my home; the home of my mind, and still, after so many years, it is capable of surprising me.  Whatever you are gripping to yourself in secret, remember this: Isig holds great beauty and great sorrow, and I could not desire anything less for it, than that it yields always, unsparingly, the truth of itself.”"     - Patricia McKillip “Riddle of Stars”

   This is probably my favorite all-time book, by one of my very favorite authors.  Although many of her books involve fairy, magic, and non-Christian mythology, I can’t help loving them for her beautiful descriptions, precise language, and moving characters.  Her people are very real to me.  Some of them I love.  All of them are bound in beauty or fear or evil or pain, according to their natures.  I like her earliest books best- they’re cleaner.  There is, in many of them, an innocence and beauty I find irresistable.
    This passage is one of my favorites in this book, and one I have long thought on.  It’s something I attempt to do in my writing.  I contain great beauty and great sorrow, and I want to yield them unsparingly, truthfully, and beautifully.  I hope that I succeed, and I am only ashamed that so often the truth of what is within me is still petty, irritating, prideful, arrogant, and selfish.  I want to give healing, not hurt, and when I realize I have slipped up again, I am ashamed.  But then I think of this passage again, and I try again, coming out of sorrow, shame, and lack, to write once again the truth that I have.

     “As he spoke he tore a strip from beneath his coat, and , turning sharply about, walked before them to the brink of the cliff, winding the strip firmly about the hand rest of the lance.
     “On the very edge he stood erect and waited.
     “The sun rose out of the plain, and flashed with blinding force upon the Bedouin boy clad in his sheepskin coat and desert turban, precisely as it had found him in the porch of Aaron’s tomb upon the summit of Mount Hor.
     “His hand no longer held a shepherd’s staff, but firmly grasped a Grecian lance that gleamed and flashed as fiercely as the sun.”
                              -Harry W. French “The Lance of Kanana”

    This, the story of the “coward of the Beni Sads” who would not become a fighter and slaughter men for no good reason but insisted he could not “lift a lance to take a life, unless it be for Allah and Arabia,” has long been one of my favorites.  It’s a story of a boy who must prove his courage without going to war.  It’s a story about holding a moral principle so high that you will accept the consequences unto death not to break trust with truth.  And it’s a story of how God rewards committed faith even while allowing its sacrifice.
     It’s also brilliantly written, which is always a plus.  Listen to this, “There is but one name more bitter than ‘coward’ to the Arab.  That name is ‘traitor,’ and after being called a coward almost all his life, the very last words which Kanana heard from the lips of his countrymen came in frantic yells, calling him a traitor.”  Now, who could resist reading the rest of the story?
    The storytelling is hypnotic.  The scenes are so vivid, romantically painted in heroic brushstrokes. There is nothing lurid or mean or small or disgusting.  Even the villians have a dignity of purpose.  They’re evil, but they’re not degraded.  Why does so much of modern literature degrade mankind?  I’m a sucker for any story about a hero, a man with confidence, with strength, with conscience.  They are few and far between.  Now we have “dark heroes,” men who can’t decided to be rescuers or abusers, heroes who are drunks, or dangerous, or wandering on the wrong side of the law.  Our kids want to “be bad” and “look tough.”  But they have no knowledge of what true strength is- to bear, without compromise, the consequences of right and necessary action.  Or, as Reepicheep so nobly put it, to swim East until we can no longer paddle, then to die with our noses pointed towards the rising sun. 

1) Identify a writer – Christian or secular – whose style appeals to you. Analyze and list the elements of style that contributes to that appeal.

My favorite author, considered by different groups to be both Christian and secular, is Madeline L’Engle. She draws me in with her masterful grasp of language and art. I choose not to approach her writing as either “Christian” or “secular” mainly because I do not think you can distinguish any art as purely secular. Good art is, at its core, inherently Christian and I do not believe you can separate the two.

L’Engle writes with a distinct “discovery” style. There are no bullying tactics to her writing approach, and yet I consistently find myself being drawn in to her point of view by the way she weaves her words into a garment of truth.

2) Identify one publication you would like to write for and provide a brief analysis of what appears to be its style. Caution: Some magazines don’t have a consistent style, but many, such as Christianity Today and Discipleship Journal have clearly defined styles.

I am very interested in Radiant Magazine for its modern approach to reaching the Christian woman. Its styles vary depending on the article’s topic and can be written in a humorous style, discovery style or even simple and direct. The modern woman, both Christian and non, have such varied interests and can be more effectively reached if given a broad scope of writing styles to peruse.

3)List the books you have analyzed for the writer’s style and give a few comments about each.

I have analyzed the following writings of Madeline L’Engle:

Walking on Water - uses discovery style and reflective style to take the reader on a journey to reflect faith and art. A Wrinkle In Time & A Severed Wasp – In both she uses discovery style and reflective style to tell the stories.4) Write one or two paragraphs using a simple, direct style.

Do you find it difficult to motivate your worship team? At times it may even feel like your team has to be drug kicking and screaming to rehearsals or early morning sound checks. Don’t dismay! There are some practical things you can begin to do now to combat this familiar issue.

First, get to know your team! There is a common problem among church leadership teams where we fall into the trap of constantly ministering to other people but never being ministered to. Each person on your team has needs; get to know them and minister to them based on that need. They will be able to come to rehearsals and services refreshed and ready to give again. And make sure you, as the team leader, have someone in your life that you can talk to and pray with regarding the needs in your own personal life.

Second, cast a vision for your team. Give them something to work towards. For some of you it may be merely to learn how to stay together on songs. For others, it may be to work on original arrangements or produce a worship recording of original music. Let God speak to your heart and then get your team excited about what He wants to do!

5) Try writing a couple of paragraphs in a humorous style.

Gathering the church choir sometimes feels like herding cats, doesn’t it? You’ve got 12 grandmas filtering through the sanctuary kissing all of the church young’uns, the tenor section in the back hallway talking about this afternoon’s football game and the choir director in the bathroom stall fretting about the offertory. I’ll bet that more times than you’re willing to admit, you’ve seriously considered quitting this thankless job and joining the college students working at the local Starbucks. All the free coffee you can stand and no real responsibility, what could be better than that?

You know, I have been there so many times. I’ve questioned God – “Is this really where you want me, Lord? I’m not so sure…” Stop for a moment, relax….breathe….let it all roll off and come back to reality. God’s not crazy! He did not make a mistake when He called you, so stop your whining and get back to work! Make sure your team knows what you expect. Give them no room for failure. Remember, if you will build a strong team with clear expectations, they will come. (to the prayer room on time!)

6) Write a paragraph in a meditative/reflective style.

Simple/Direct

Computers for Dummies

When trying to navigate the complex world of computers there are a few simple steps to follow to insure success. Number one: Sit down in a chair of your choice and pull yourself up to the machine. Second: Don’t be afraid or intimidated to turn the computer on by pressing the power button firmly for two to three seconds and let it go. You now have a break for about two minutes as the computer cycles through various screens and performing different tasks until you see the login screen. Since you should already have this next piece of information, you should proceed to type in your username and whatever password you created. Press enter upon the completion of these two tasks.

You will wait another minute or so and at that point you should see your desktop, complete with some pretty background picture. Click on the start button in the lower left hand corner of the screen. You will then see all the programs that were installed on this machine. Pick one and have fun. Remember should you run into any trouble that rebooting your machine can be your best friend. We cover that in the next chapter.

Meditative/Reflection

There is a thin line between success and failure. In sports in can hinge on a single action that will be the difference between victory and defeat. The victory part seems to be easier to deal with but we really never find out what we are made of until we experience some trial that tests our faith. It is in these times that we must learn to declare that we will hold on one more day. No matter how long our troubles last, we are determined to hold out one day longer, knowing that it will produce in us a spirit that expects success and victory no matter what the circumstances. It is my hope to become this person with spirit unbreakable and a faith unshakeable.

We should always be willing to look at our experiences both good and bad as teachable moments and to use them as guideposts for those who come behind us. In the hope that they can be a source of hope and encouragement saying that it will be ok and that things will work out for my good.

Humor

Ocho ran into the house with tears streaming down his face. He had a large knot on his head the size of a golf ball smack the middle of his forehead. Honey stopped what she was doing to examine the extent of his injury. “Baby, what happened?” Honey said. A series of groans, grunts and slobber filled words poured out of Ocho’s mouth, none of which were understandable. Honey directed her son the calm down and tell what happened. ” I was hit by a car” cried Ocho. ” I was riding my bike and it came out of nowhere and hit me.” Honey asked if he saw the car that hit him. “No” replyed Ocho.
“Where is your sister” asked Honey.
“I don’t know” he said.
Honey began to worry about her youngest and her whereabouts. She told him to sit on the couch while see went to find Butter. Honey was out the front door in a flash and she met her daughter coming up the side walk. Honey breathed a deep sigh of relief. “Butter, did you see the car that hit your brother?”
“Momma, Ocho didn’t get hit by a car”
“What do you mean, Butter”
“Momma, he rode into the back of old man Lewis’ cadillac. He won’t payin a bit of attention to what he was doing and blam right into it. Left a nice dent on the trunk too.”

From that time forward whenever we did something stupid and careless, Honey and Herman would tell us that our actions were as smart as playing “Chicken with a parked car.”

The twenty year old fool staggered into his ex-girl friend’s back yard at two in the AM.  Even though he knew he was the last person she wanted to see, he was heart-broken enough to think otherwise; perhaps there was a chance she’d be glad to see his drunken face at the door if she were awake.  He walked up to the back porch and went to knock when all the wind was taken out of him like a Mike Tyson punch to the solar plexis:  there she was on her couch, indeed as he’d hoped.  But she was kissing William, whom she’d just begun to date.  And he thought the aching she’d caused him the night they broke up was the most painful experience of his life.  He was wrong.  It was now official:  their two and a half year high school/college romance was officially ended.  He did make one of the better judgment choices of his life at that point, the decision to turn around quietly and gracefully  go away.  He tip-toed down the back porch steps.  As he slinked off with his tail between his legs he gave sight to BJ, his girlfriend’s family beagle, tied to his doghouse near their garage.  Old BJ!  He remembered the times he and his girl had spent with BJ, walking him, feeding him, taking him out, bringing him in.  Making him do his few doggy tricks.  He decided to console himself by giving BJ a good pat.  BJ sat still near his house, hind legs on the ground, his tongue hanging loosely, looking at him across the yard.  The neo-interloper walked quietly toward him so as not to disturb the romance back inside.  He walked up to BJ slowly, smiling and holding his fist out for him to lick, just like old times.  BJ sat like a statute staring at him.  He got within two feet of the dog.  He leaned down and whispered with a tear-stained smile, “Hey, BJ!”  BJ was instantly possessed of satan and lunged violently at the young man, snapping the rope taught.  “AAAARRFF!” he barked, chasing the drunk back three feet.  “AAARRRFFF” here translated:  “Hit the road, loser!  She’s over you!”  Stunned even more, the drunk staggered quickly out of the yard, with his other three tails between his legs, now.  As he walked down the blackened, hazy, summer street, he decided it is probably not a good thing to try and visit unanounced at two in the morning the girl who broke up with you.

(The names in this story have been changed to protect the innocent.  Except for BJ.  BJ is the real name of the dog.  May he rest in peace and have a huge, shiny white bone to chew on forever in doggy heaven.)

“Love Stinks”

“He loves her/but she loves him.  And he loves somebody else/you just can’t win.”  That’s how the song went.  Eros.  So many in our society are consumed by “love.”  Eros is propelled to pinnacles and thrones as being chief.  This message is especially driven by the entertainment-media.  And it’s an easy one for them to glom onto.  The sex drive in humans is next only to the will to live.  The drive to “be one” with another is beaten only by the will to fight for your life when threatened.  God made our sexual being that way to ensure procreation; prolific procreation.  Now that drive is a weapon used against society to combat the family.  Eros can at once be both cheap and costly.  It is “chasing the wind” to get that ooey-gooey feeling for someone.  It is a never ending cycle that can bite you time and time again.  And infatuation, that bait and hook God created in us to bring us to marriage, is now used against us greatly.  Romance is definitely fun, when pursued in the safety of marriage. Otherwise, eros, lust, is just a killer of character, marriages, family.  How many are pained by it?  That reminds me of another famous 70s rock and roll song:  “Love Hurts.” 

This is an attempt to combine the 3, since I couldn’t find the actual assignment and directions.

           One of the hazards of my new job at UNCW is learning to walk. Normally this would not be part of a new job description, and I think the interview committee failed with their list of questions when they did not include sidewalk hopping as part of the requirement for working here. Granted the senior interviewer is 69 years old, and tells me every time I go out the door for my daily walk, “I don’t walk.”  How she has managed to be so healthy was a mystery to me, until I realized walking on the sidewalks requires taking your life into your own hands.
 

           The first week I walked was a huge sham. I had somehow managed to walk in between classes. Later when I had a more established lunch hour I found myself walking or rather dodging students on skate boards, bicycles, and ground keepers on golf carts. Aren’t golf carts made for driving on the grass? And when did women stop wearing clothes? I’m no prude, or maybe I am, but I’ve seen more skin covered at the beach than on some of the young women dodging the skate boarders in front of me. The young men and even the old ones are blasé about the sea of skin. In fact I noticed a woman dressed in business suit getting the most appreciative glances. The skate boarders didn’t even try to mow her down.

          If speed is the demon driving the students on the sidewalks brilliance is the driving force with the Faculty I work for, some speak many languages, and have written books, published in at least three languages, if not more.

Recently during my lunch break I was reading CS Lewis’ Anthology of George MacDonald’s writings (whom I absolutely adore!) The passage was called:

“First Things First”
“Oh the folly of any mind that would explain God before obeying Him! That would map out the character of God instead of crying, Lord, what wouldst though have me to do?”

I sighed and laid it down to take a bite of my sandwich when one of the more prolific writers walked into the kitchen. He looked at me quizzically. “Don’t you just love it when you find an author you love, and can go back and savor his words over and over again?” He sort of laughed, “Read for pleasure? I don’t think I’ve done that in years.”
                   In my walk with Jesus He is showing me, “I give my wisdom to the simple, to the pure in heart, to the one who seeks me.”  This past weekend, I attended a conference with Graham Cooke as the guest speaker. It was incredible, twice the hosting pastor had to tell us to go home, no one could move when the service was over. We just sat there heavy with His anointing.  But three separate times on driving from my mother’s house to the conference I lost my way. On each occasion the Lord questioned me, “Who are you going to hear? You, Lord I am going to hear from You from the mouth of this anointed man. Whose voice do you seek? Yours Lord. Worship me where you are.” By the third time of getting lost you would think I had learned my lesson, but no this time was the worst, and most frightening, I was really lost this time, and could find no peace to worship. “Who are you seeking? You Lord. Then worship me where you are.”

               My hands were shaking hard, and I was trying to get my fear under control before I started singing/worshiping, but I heard again, “worship me where you are, in the fear, in the not knowing.”  I did, and of course He showed me again where to turn and how to get there. Once I arrived I had to sit and start writing as fast as my hand would move. I felt a little guilty for not entering in to worship or listening to the words being spoken from the prophetic team. Again He said “who do you want to hear? You Lord, I want to hear from You. Seek me first, seek me always, and seek me only. I will lead you every time everywhere I want you to go. Seek my direction, seek my guidance, and seek my heart when you cannot see the way. Even when you are afraid I do not require anything, but that you come to me, and seek me with all of your heart. For I have opened a path before you that leads you to Me every time, every time every time! I will always lead you to Myself.”

Humorous:

     I hate trying to be funny.  Every part of my brain dries up.  My medulla oblongata shrinks to the size of a pea.  My cerebrum slinks sullenly to the bottom of my skull and goes to sleep.  Silence falls.  Crickets chirp.  You can hear the far-off baa-ing of imaginary sheep.
     I hate trying to be funny.  The MC has drawn my name!  Everyone is clapping and cheering as I make my way to the stage.  He shakes my hand and announces, “Angela Wilhite, for 5 million tax-free dollars and a new car with working A/C, all you have to do is…”  A hush falls on the audience.  A spotlight hits my face.  He hands me a mike, drops his voice and says, “…say something funny!”  Everyone leans forward expectantly.  Eventually someone titters nervously.  I can’t even speak.
     I hate trying to be funny.  I think funny only happens accidentally, like someone dropping a live frog in your hand when you were expecting car keys.  Technically, frogs are squishy, not funny, but arguably, they are nothing like car keys.
     When certain people I know try to be funny they do something strange like hanging a spoon on their nose.  Why is a spoon on your nose supposed to be funny?  Now, if the spoon was on a frog’s nose, or a frog was on a person’s nose… well, basically, anything involving frogs and noses- that would be funny.
     I hate trying to be funny.

Simple and Direct:
    
     Donal, I know you are a little young for this advice, but I want you to think about it before adolescent hormones invade your brain and make it difficult for us to discuss things.  Please be careful about who you fall in love with.
      Sometimes it seems like McDonald’s requires more references for their newest hamburger flipper than most people do for their spouse.  Looking pretty and being friendly isn’t enough.  Some serial killers have those qualifications!  If you think someone is interesting, I want you to examine her life carefully.  Think Sherlock Holmes.  What is her mother like?  Somewhere between 30 and 40 she’s going to turn into her mother, so this is important information.  If you don’t like her mom, you’re in trouble already!
     Does she lie to other people?  If she lies to someone else, sooner or later she’s going to lie to you.  Does she break promises “when it’s convenient” or even ”when she has a reason?”  It may seem cute when she cuts class or breaks promises to be with you, but two years from now the shoe may be on the other foot.  Equally, can she keep secrets?  Because someone who talks about other people will eventually be talking about you.
     The point here is, does she have good character?  The person you marry will have tremendous power over your life.  They will get a veto on your every decision, access to your bank account, and wield power of attorney over you if you’re ever sick or incapacitated.  They will own a 50% share in your children, carry your credit cards around, and know your every secret.  Pick someone you can trust!  This is so important!
     Most critically, does she acknowledge that God has authority over her life?  Because if she isn’t responsible to God, who is she responsible to?  A person who isn’t accountable to Christ is only good as long as they want to look good!  If they ever decide that it’s more important to their mental health to leave you than to keep their commitment to you, all that “character” will melt like snow in the sunshine.

Humorous

Kabam! Kaboom!  I literally jumped off the bed as a ominous and terrifying noise slammed against the bedroom wall outside the house.  I could only pray the intruder could not see me sliding like a bowl of jelly off the bed and crawling through the doorway.  As I jumped to my feet and raced down hall to the phone, I prayed protection for my little ones. My husband David and John, my brother-in-law who lived behind us, were both at work, so whom could I call?  My mother-in-law would be terrified to know a vicious hunter was stalking the neighbor and she was alone in the dark.  Thank goodness our next-door neighbor, Keith was home.  He had guns; he was even a cop.  With shaking hands, I dialed his number and quickly shared the drastic events happening under his very nose. 

Out the backdoor like a thief in the night, he crept. Listening for the sound, he was quickly on the trail of the culprit.  He rushed over to my mother-in-law’s front yard. Through the window, he could see her asleep on the couch, with her trusty baseball bat safely standing guard.  Yep she was safe; the woman who swore she was a light sleeper had no idea of her danger or of the fact that there was a man in her front yard with a loaded 9mm.  He pressed on toward the noise; the varmint was still loose, endangering innocent widows and young moms alone with her precious children.  NOT on his watch, he determined!  Creeping silently, he knew he had the intruder dead in his sights.  Why, they were just on the other side of the van.  Jumping out, ready to open fire, he shouted “Freeze dirt bag!”  He almost scared the prowler to death as he ran headlong into the side of the van.  Dazed from the impact, shaking like a leaf stood Sweet Boy, our adopted gentle, timid stray, unable to see beyond the thick white plastic mayonnaise jar stuck on his head.  The poor creature, not knowing which way to turn, ran from the terrifying growl of our constable on patrol.  No vehicle, tree or bush was safe from the jar-yielding bandit.  Keith finally managed to capture the varmint and free him from the curse of his bondage.  Once more, the neighborhood was safe under the patrol of Officer Keith.

_____________________________________________________

Direct

Hard times come into everyone’s life.  Events happen that we don’t understand and often doesn’t seem fair.  At times, we are not sure which way to turn.  However, I have learned that no matter how difficult things become, I can turn to the Lord.  He has proven Himself true and faithful in ever instance.  This doesn’t mean that by some magical wave of His hand everything is perfect and wonderful.  In fact, often the opposite is true.  The difficulty is still here, but He has strengthened me to stand through it.  I have learned that I can trust Him no matter what.

When our son Allen was paralyzed after being thrown from our truck in a wreck.  I clearly heard the Lord speak to my heart. “Can you trust Me even in this?”  In reality, I could trust no one else.  I couldn’t do anything to change it.  The physicians could only accomplish so much.  Our entire situation was in His hands.  Even today, I don’t understand why, but the Lord never asked me to understand.  He simply asked me to trust Him.  This critical lesson taught me that no matter what the situation is, I can trust the Lord.

________________________________________________________________________

Reflective

What a wonderful and awesome God I serve?  Who else could ever create life with all its parts formed together perfectly?  I looked down at the tiny fingers and toes of the newest member of our family.  What a wondrous event and as every doting grandmother I was overwhelmed with love for this beautiful little one.  Even while looking at the tiny fingernails, I marveled at the creative power of my Heavenly Father.  Eyes, ears, nose and mouth all in miniature form. Her little lungs loudly protested the arrival into this cold bright room; much different from the warm snug place of her earlier residence.  Yes, O Lord, it is true for You formed her inward parts; You covered her in her mother’s womb. I will praise You, for she is fearfully and wonderfully made.

Discovery  Do you ever feel like it is you against the world or vice-versa?  It seems everything we do is wrong, and nothing goes right.  That seems to be true of most of people.  I was not born with a silver spoon in my mouth like some.  I have lived through hard times, drastic life-changing mistakes, and ‘life is unfair’ moments.  I remember a little ditty my children sang years ago saying; “No body likes me, everybody hates me.  I’m going to eat some worms.”   Many times throughout my life, I have felt like singing that song and at times, I have sung it with great conviction. However, in reality, I discovered one thing. No matter what anyone else thinks of me, the Lord loves me.  I have found verses in the Bible that ministered greatly to my heart that I am loved and accepted by His grace.  The blood of His Son, Jesus, has purchased me.  Although my birth parents thought I was an inconvenient accident, in reality, He foresaw my birth even before the foundation of the world.  He planned for me and called me by name.  What a thrill and joy is it to know that the God and Creator of this universe cares for me.   If you draw near to the Lord, He will reveal His heart to you as well.

He knows the end from the beginning. He knows which path leads to destruction and which road is a straight shot to the fullness of His plan and purpose for our lives. We must learn to trust His strong hand and steady feet, for in the cradle of His arm is safety and refuge, strength and stability. Because of this we can be strong and courageous even when our world is being rocked by the waves of life and tossed to and fro by the storm of hardship. He is where our safety lies! In His arms is where we can safely endure the attacks of the enemy that come against us from all sides.

“Surely He has borne our grief and carries our sorrow.” Isaiah 53.4

We don’t have to be strong - He is strong for us! In our darkest day He will carry us, in our most desperate state He will keep us safely in His arms. Lean on Him, trust Him to take our worst heartaches and most impossible situations and bring us to the dry ground of healing. He will carry us through the most challenging seasons of our lives if we will trust Him!

God will sustain the anointing in you. He has a plan to carry you through and deliver you into a land of promise. In 1 Kings, Elijah was instructed to go and hide by the Brook Cherith. There he was sustained and carried through the season of drought as the Lord sent ravens to feed him. Elijah obeyed the word of the Lord, because he knew his sustenance could be found in obedience. If he would have stayed where he was, he would have died without food or drink. But he made a decision to be carried, to trust in the wisdom of the Lord. When the brook dried up, the Lord sent him to Zeraphath to be sustained by a widow. Again, Elijah obeyed the instructions of the Lord and found the widow women working gathering sticks. This could have seemed like a desperate situation, the women did not even have enough food to sustain herself and her son, let alone a stranger making greedy demands! Oh, but the Lord had already prepared her heart and He used her to carry the anointing through this difficult time. You see, the Lord has a plan! The drought in your life may seem unbearable, even too much to continue on – but through your obedience He will carry you through! Those who accomplish much in the Kingdom do so because they are being carried over the muck and mire of self-promotion and pride. They allow the Father – not their own ability - to be Sovereign in their lives!

Isaiah 46.3-4 says this, “Listen to Me, O house of Jacob, and all the remnant of the house of Israel, who have been upheld by Me from birth, who have been carried from the womb: even to your old age, I am He, and even to gray hairs I will carry you! I have made, and I will bear; even I will carry, and will deliver you.”

From your beginning to the fulfillment of destiny, you can be sure God has a plan to sustain and carry you! Put your trust in God! Proclaim His greatness and unimaginable strength! This is worship….to grasp the reality of His plan for your life and to live it daily, not trying to appear strong in our own ability, but to proudly display our need to be carried by a loving, gentle and wise Father!

Have you ever thought about how it thrills our heavenly Father when we simply come seeking His face?  I don’t mean when we come asking for this, or seeking a blessing.  But, when we come to tell Him how much we love Him, how blessed we are by His mercy and grace or how thankful we are for His love.  His heart overflows when we run to meet His presence with one desire, to spend time with Him.  As much as we feel love for those around us, it can’t compare to what the Father feels for us.

He gave us His best through His son Jesus.  Willingly, Jesus left His place in heaven, came to this earth in human form, and laid down His life for us.  The death He suffered on the cross, was not simple nor easy.  The treatment He received before being nailed to the cross and afterwards led to a slow agonizing death.  Yet, Jesus gladly accepted the pain inflicted on Him to make a way to salvation for us.  That is love, true love.

Jesus achieved so much for us through this selfless act.   He made the way for our salvation through His perfect sinless sacrifice.  The veil was rent in two at the moment of His death.  The Holy Place, previously only accessible once a year by the high priest, was now open.  As we cry out in repentance over our sins, we have access to the mercy seat by the blood of the Messiah.

His act of love should bring us to our knees with a grateful heart.  The power of His blood ought to render us speechless.  The grace and mercy flowing from heaven is more powerful than the swiftest river on the face of this earth.  His compassion is beyond anything we could ever imagine.  Forgiveness flows over us washing even the blackest of sins white.  Everything we need is available at the throne of the Father.

Yet, sometimes we act like spoiled brats who take and take without as much as a thank you?  We lose sight of the gift of love and mercy, seeing only our woes, cares and wants.  We become bogged down with daily life that we forget to take time to say, “I love You, Lord.”  We take His many blessings for granted. 

I have four beautiful little granddaughters.  When I drive up in the yard and they see me coming, little legs begin running swiftly out the door, with arms lifted up and voices yelling “Grandma.”  My heart overflows with love.  It might have been only one day since our last visit but it doesn’t matter.  It’s hard to even describe the joy that fills my heart when squeals of love fill the air.  The love I feel for my children and grandchildren is hard to describe, but it’s always there. 

It is the same with our Lord.  He loves to hear His children call His name.  Imagine how it thrills His heart to hear us excitedly declare, “I love You, Lord!”   He longs to hear His children patiently sit waiting to hear Him speak in His soft and quiet voice.  In the same manner, He listens to our declarations of love and admiration.

Today let your heart and voice be lifted up in love toward the Lord.  Let His ears be filled with declarations of love and gratitude.  Come before Him with one purpose, to seek His face.  Bow before this awesome God we serve with one desire; to honor Him.  Let the cry of your heart have one goal; to bless the Lord.  He is worthy of all praise and honor and glory.  Imagine His joy as He hears you say “I love You, Lord.”

Psalms 68: 3 & 4  But let the righteous be glad; Let them rejoice before God; Yes, let them rejoice exceedingly. Sing to God, sing praises to His name; Extol Him who rides on the clouds, By His name Yah, And rejoice before Him.

With the Golden Age of Television long dead, we are left to wonder what would fill the void left when many good family shows left the airwaves.  MTV, which has long been on the cutting edge of our “progressive society”, has risen to a new level.  “Next” is just one of the quality programs that I had the pleasure of viewing here in the last several weeks.  “Next” is a dating game with a modern twist.  The show is set up with five contestants riding in a RV trying to win a date with the sixth and main contestant who is in a van in front of them.  The main contestant will be introduced to the others one at a time and with each introduction the potential couple will have a “mini date”.  If the main contestant does not like the way the date is going or the looks of their date, they can simply say “next” and that person is sent back to the RV and the next contestant comes out to continue the date.  Throughout the show all of the contestants brag about their likes and dislikes with a variety of sexual suggestion, with the punch line being the more vulgar the better.  It also is quite apparent that to demean and put down others on the show is expected and encouraged.  The show concludes when and if the main contestant decides that he/she would like to go on a second date with one of the other contestants.  The main contestant must make their intentions clear and ask if they would like to go on another date.  It is at this point that the twist comes because there has been a clock running to keep time on how long the mini date lasted.  The main contestant must offer their date a choice between the second date and the money that would be equal to the amount time the date lasted.It seems clear that MTV’s unstated goal with this program is a return to the “if it feels good do it” mentality of the Sixties.  The people who are contestants on this show range in age from 18 to 25 with no real desires to find love in a lasting and stable relationship.  The idea is find the next person to “hook up” with and then move on with no strings attached.  The preoccupation with sex and the fulfillment of those desires is obvious to anyone with half a brain watching this show.  These twenty-something’s having been sold a lie that this is how they must live in order to truly enjoy life.  They live from one party or relationship to the next in search of the next high that will be better than the previous one. At its core this show is teaching our youth that marriage and family are not important because if you choose those things you are somehow missing out on all the fun.  The grass is always greener on the other side on the fence, is the dominating thought.  Or they simply feel that they can always do the marriage thing later after they have had their fun, but at what cost to them mentally and physically.  They do not realize that through all those experiences they will take that baggage with them into any relationship they hope to have.  It eventually places people into prison where they are incapable of expressing love or receiving it from another person.  Trust and honesty is something that most will say they want in a relationship but because they are truly devalued and de-emphasized, many people are unable to trust and be trusted.  This program perpetuates a flawed and failing mind set among the “MTV” generation that Godly principals and values are not for them.  Their desire is to seize the day no matter what the consequences, believing and hoping that it won’t catch up to them.  With programs like this, Hollywood has successfully erased and redrawn the lines of what is acceptable in today’s society.  There is no right or wrong anymore, it has all become relative depending solely on the individual’s own value system.  In these politically correct times the church as failed in large part to stand up to this onslaught for fear of being offensive.  We have become a people that have gone from loving truth to hiding from it, proclaiming that those who disagree with this lifestyle are being judgmental and should loosen up.  Sex is not to be enjoyed inside the safety of marriage but to be a never-ending pursuit of the next conquest or fantasy.  Not realizing that it will never bring peace and satisfaction, but emptiness and a longing for more. I do not believe that America will be conquered by some foreign military power but instead, we will crumble in on ourselves as we continue to destroy the very foundation that made this the greatest nation in the free world.  The family.

This is my assignment.  I have no intention of trying to publish it.

     I recently attended a prayer meeting led by a Messianic Jewish pastor. He salted his prayer points with a great deal of teaching on why anti-Semitism is unbiblical and an offense before God. Some of it I agreed with, but some of it I found deeply disturbing. 
     From what I understand, the Messianic Jewish movement is a return to Old Testament ways of honoring God, observing holidays, and basically living as a modern day Jew who believes in Jesus. I have heard messianic Jews teach that when we’re in heaven we’ll all live like Jews and honor Jewish holidays. I have also heard them criticize the Christian church’s Sunday Sabbath and holidays like Christmas and Easter as being pagan-derived and anti-Semitic. The ones I know follow kosher dietary rules and a number of other Old Testament devotions.
      When I heard this man speak he was quite aggressive about it, talking about how in the end times ten Christians were going to carry one Jew on their shoulders to the promised land to re-establish God’s kingdom in Israel. The verse that kept floating through my mind was, “there is now no male nor female, Jew nor gentile, slave nor free…” I don’t think this man would have agreed with that verse. I also got the feeling that he would have been upset with Paul over that bit in Romans where he talks about people who have to observe special days or only eat certain foods, saying “don’t eat, don’t touch…” as having lesser faith.
     The feeling the man left me with was one of smugness. He was smug that he was a Jew. He was enjoying the feeling of preaching chastisement against those who harbored anti-Semitism in their hearts. I’ve heard that kind of smugness before in other places, and it always worries me. Why do people enjoy lecturing and fussing at other people so much? I catch myself doing it with my kids, and sometimes when I write. There is a pleasant feeling that steals in when I feel that I know the right way to do something and others don’t. It’s a sort of self-satisfied, self-righteous kind of…well… smugness.
     As I was listening to his lecture with gritted teeth (something about being lectured just makes me mulish and stubborn- I can’t help it) I started thinking about how I could present his point differently. Is there a way to point out someone’s error gently? Is there a way to teach that doesn’t involve pointing fingers and saying, in a ringing voice, “Some of you people need to hear this!” One of the things I have greatly appreciated about God is that when he shows me my flaws he does it so lovingly it makes me feel better instead of worse.
     I have been trying to probe the hearts of my children as I discipline them. Instead of lecturing and screaming, I have been trying to ask questions. “What did you do? How were you feeling? How did that make the other people feel? Do you think that’s a good thing to do?” I have been trying to relinquish judgement and lovingly teach them a better way to reach their goals. It works pretty well one on one, but it would be difficult with an audience.
     I think if I was given a pulpit and a microphone, I might try to do it differently. I would try to say simply, God has commanded us to love. He said to love everyone… neighbor, friend, family, and enemy. He didn’t just say to love Jews, he also said to love Palestinians. Even terrorists. It’s difficult for me to think of loving a terrorist, but God commanded me to do so.
     I might talk a little about the rich heritage of the Jews and the verses in the bible that talk about the destiny of Israel. And then I would talk about how we are all the great family of God, drawn together by his love, and how it grieves him when his children dislike and hate and oppose each other. Most of all, I would try to teach about love by demonstrating it, by loving my audience and dealing with them gently and respectfully. God doesn’t give us a pulpit or authority over our children, to show off how righteous and knowledgeable we are. The purpose is to help people understand their hearts and let them see clearly how God sees them. It’s to help them extrapolate the end result of their actions and visualize what consequences they may be choosing by what they do.
     I think the reason the Pharisees stayed in such hot water with Jesus was because they enjoyed the contrast between the dirty public and their clean white laundry. It made them feel smug. (Sort of like my son feels when it’s his sister’s turn to get in trouble instead of his. He likes to hang around and give me advice on her punishment- it’s a spectator sport for him.) Jesus, on the other hand, was the whitest of the white, and he never felt smug. He looked upon mankind and was moved by a great pity and grief of the soul. He longed to reach them and heal them and love them. Yes, Jesus was a Jew. But more than a Jew, he was a man, and he came for all mankind. He belongs in North Carolina as well as Israel, and as much as he loves me, he loves you. Jew and gentile, male and female, white, black, and middling, slave or free.
     Some of you people needed to hear that again, you see.

Hello, again! I really had a wonderful time Sunday as we all met together. There are inspiring and beautiful things coming out of each of you and I feel so honored to be allowed to read the intimacy of your hearts. Thank you for that privilege!

This month I am pushing you a little more than usual. I have been reading a very challenging book - “Radical Reformission” by Mark Driscoll. He is the pastor of Mars Hill church in Seattle, WA. Seattle is probably the closest example of what Paul encountered as he preached to the Athinians on Mars Hill. (Acts 17:16-34) Driscoll writes,

“As Paul first entered Athens, he was burdened by the great need of a people who had unparalleled philosophy, literature, architecture, art, and education but did not have Jesus.”

“Today, this generation believes in God and speaks to Him but they have no idea who he is. While some Christians lament the condition of our spiritual but post-Christian nation, we must see our day as a great opportunity for the gospel, not unlike Paul’s day on Mars Hill. But numerous errors in Christian theology restrain us from going to Mars Hill, seeing any idols, talking to any pagans, or quoting any godless songwriters, who are unknowingly dancing around the truth of the time.”

Part One: This month we are going to do a little cultural research for our assignment. I want everyone to watch something on television that would not normally allow yourself to watch. You may have to watch several different programs - but the point is to gather some information about what people are talking about. What are the issues that people are facing in their lives and what are their approaches as they grapple with these issues? You will certainly find them “unknowingly dancing around the truth of the time.”

From the programs you have viewed, select a topic that you believe the church needs to address in a culturally relevant but biblically sound way. The answer you find in the Word will be very different than the answer that Hollywood writers and producers have to offer. Please be careful and allow Holy Spirit to direct you during this assignment. Don’t get hooked on bad television - this is an experiment for the purpose of your assignment and I do not want you to watch anything that is so morally reprehensible that you grieve Holy Spirit. This needs to be in non-fiction, editorial format and 750-1000 words. I want everyone to submit this assignment to a publication for consideration. (on-line or print publications) Which leads me to part two of the assignment…

Part Two: Pick 5 publications that you would be interested in submitting articles to. Record the name of the publication, frequency of the publication, the name of the editor, mailing and e-mail addresses, phone and fax numbers, and any other additional information you find useful. Then, contact the publication via phone or e-mail to obtain writer’s guidelines. Most publications also have all of this information on their websites as well. Start a folder to keep all of this information which will come in handy when you submit your assignment article at the end of the month! Check out this website to find information about publications and their requirements - http://www.powerpenmarketsearch.com/

Please post the writing portion of the assignment on the web by Sunday, August 20th. Our next meeting will be Sunday, August 27th at 4:30 in the conference room! Please let me know if you have any questions!

Good morning, all! What a wonderful time we had together yesterday, it had been way too long and I had been missing you! I really appreciated the candor in your essays as well as in your free writes. Thank you for sharing.

Our next meeting will be Sunday, July 23rd at 4:30. Mark your calendars!

I was reading this morning out of “The Creative Life: A Workbook for Unearthing the Christian Imagination” by Alice Bass and I wanted to share this passage with you.

“God is expansive, but he’s made us limited creatures. We are limited by geography, age, generation, gender, abilities, experiences and the list goes on. Some people would say, “No, no, you’re not limited.” But really we are. Most of us consider limits something to rebel against, something to be exceeded or stretched. But God is stretching us. Within the boundaries of our lives we can experience God’s abundance. He is always going beyond our limitations to achieve eternal purposes. This is what God does in you: he tells you who you are, and then he pours out his grace and makes you more than you are, more than you could ever be. He makes you like Jesus.”

Psalm 16.5-6 says, “Lord, you have assigned me my portion and my cup; you have made my lot secure. The boundary lines have fallen for me in pleasant places; surely I have a delightful inheritance.”

I want you to try an experiment. This week, I want you to make a place for creativity – a quiet and safe place – away from the kids and the dishwasher that needs to be unloaded – again – and away from the television. Make a safe haven for creative thought. Use a chair, room, porch, corner – get a big colorful coffee mug or a picture that inspires you – whatever will help you to relax and remember that you are safe to explore your imagination. Let your safe haven remind you that you need to spend time connecting with God in order to experience your creative life. Let’s remember how to see angels and draw anatomically incorrect people with crayons and construction paper. (if you missed guild yesterday, this may seem like a strange analogy…) Now…. Write – don’t edit yourself as you write – save that for a later date. Just write and let the Lord speak through your pen, pencil, marker, crayon, chalk… whatever you are using. I know that each of you suffer from being human, it’s a condition that is impossible to change – but your creativity is supernatural and goes beyond what our limited human minds can comprehend. Allow that part of you to write. You will not be sharing this assignment with the group unless you so choose.

Now – the assignment that you WILL be sharing with us is this….

Write a fictional bio, in first person, of up to 500-600 words. Whether you opt for the outrageous or the conservative in creating the fraudulent you, notice where you are tending to draw your ideas from. Aspirations? The lives of others? The person sitting across from you? Are you inventing quite arbitrarily, sculpting, stealing, corrupting? (these are questions to answer internally – written answers aren’t required for this assignment, just the fictional bio! But reflect on these questions and stay in touch with the process and how your imagination is working).

You have a few weeks to work on this – please email it to me by Sunday, July 16th so I can get it to the group in time for you to read them and comment. I look forward to reading them!

See you all soon –
Pastor Abbye