Seen any sheep lately?

I was driving home the other day when I noticed a sheep walking alone in a field. My first thought was that it’s really odd to see only one sheep in a large pasture. After all, this is West Texas, home of coyotes, bob cats, and other predators. What would cause this one sheep to be by itself? Why would the owner of the land only have purchased one, it just didn’t make sense to me. Then something caught my eye and I realized the cause. The sheep was injured; enough that I could see it visibly hobbling as I passed by at 65 mph. The rest of the flock was over 300 yards away and this defenseless animal had been left alone to fend for itself, to endure its struggle… alone. I began to wonder why they would do that. Why would the flock abandon the one? Don’t they know it’s more vulnerable now? If they could only understand that by alienating this poor sheep that the odds were against it, leaving it more susceptible to attack. Then my heart began to sink as I realized that the rest of the herd was concerned only for its own well-being and cared nothing for the suffering of another.

My thoughts then turned to the owner of the field. Why would he leave the injured sheep in the field? Doesn’t he care about this one?

As I continued down the highway, my mind was flooded with the biblical correlations of believers to sheep. I couldn’t help but think about how we as believers do exactly the same thing to other Christians. We disown the injured member, send them on their way, avoid them, and frankly, carry on with our lives as if the ailing member didn’t even exist. Why do we do that? Are we somehow afraid that our white as snow garments will be tarnished by the mud and mire of this world? Have we convinced ourselves that the one who is hurting wants to be left alone, or that he or she doesn’t long for the love, acceptance and protection that is found within the flock? What about the “Owner of the Field?” Does He have anything to say about this? Doesn’t it say in Matthew, “If any man has a hundred sheep, and one of them has gone astray, does he not leave the ninety-nine on the mountains and go and search for the one that is straying?”

The problem is that we’ve forgotten that Scripture not only refers to believers as sheep, but also as the body, that is the body of Christ. It is we who are His hands and His feet and His heart. It is our obligation to be Christ to the world. But if you’re anything like me, you twist Paul’s words here, correlating your lack of concern to your gifting.

“I’m not gifted in those areas so I’ll leave this to those that are, but oh how I love Jesus.”

As James said, “faith without works is dead.” We try to plead our case, making every attempt to justify our lack of action, but in the end, it’s a heart issue.

In Matthew 25, Jesus exposes the heart. He says, “for I was hungry, and you gave Me nothing to eat; I was thirsty, and you gave Me nothing to drink; I was a stranger, and you did not invite Me in; naked, and you did not clothe Me; sick, and in prison, and you did not visit Me. Then they themselves also will answer, 'Lord, when did we see You hungry, or thirsty, or a stranger, or naked, or sick, or in prison, and did not take care of You?' Then He will answer them, 'Truly I say to you, to the extent that you did not do it to one of the least of these, you did not do it to Me.'

So I wonder, have you seen any sheep lately?

Giver of Life: Part 3 (The Conclusion)

As we knelt there, weeping and pleading for an immediate and miraculous healing, God answered our prayer. He said, “No.” I didn’t hear an audible voice, but the overwhelming sense that He had something else in mind was unmistakable. By the time we said “Amen,” I was certain Sophie’s condition was by design. The Sovereign God of the Universe wanted us at that hospital and we just needed to figure out why. We had knelt with a purpose, but in the midst of our tear-stained intercessions, He revealed His.

I started to tell Tammie what I felt the Lord was saying, but she beat me to it. “Jamey, I don’t understand it, and I don’t like it, but God has us here for a reason.” Almost immediately Paul’s words to the saints at Ephesus came to mind and I recited them aloud, “For we are His workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand so that we would walk in them.” We weren’t sure what “good work” God had “prepared beforehand,” but whatever it was, we were willing to do it.

Over the course of the next seven days, we realized why we were there – to simply display His workmanship. During our time in the hospital, my wife and I were able to talk extensively about our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ, with one of our nurses. She even downloaded a sermon I had preached on Aug 17 and proceeded to watch it right at her desk. When she finished, she came to our room and asked what time church started because she wanted to come. The next day, I just sat and marveled as my wife ministered to a young unwed, pregnant nurse who was visibly down-trodden. There were many other conversations about our Great God why we were there, not to mention the testimony of the saints as Christian friends kept our room filled with love, laughter and prayer. But perhaps the greatest confirmation of God’s intentions came directly from our time in the NICU.

While we were there, we met Dan and Amy (not their real names) whose daughter’s bed was right next to Sophie’s. Before they left, we were able to share with them our faith in God and invite them to church. A few days later, Tammie was released, but Sophie had to stay.

The following Sunday we went to church, trusting in God, but sad that our little princess couldn’t be with us. And yet in the midst of our sorrow, God reminded us that He is faithful. During the “greeting of the guests,” I turned and looked right at Dan and Amy. I couldn’t believe it, they had come! I went and talked with them for a few minutes but the music was starting back up so I assured them we’d talk later. After the service, we started heading their way. When Tammie and I got there Amy introduced us to her mother who was just glowing. Tammie started to chat with Amy, but her mother pulled me aside. She proceeded to tell me that she had been praying for months that her daughter and son-in-law would get involved in church, but they never budged, so she just continued to pray. She said, “I hope you don’t take this wrong, but I firmly believe that your baby, Sophia, came early, had the problems she had, and was put into a bed next to my granddaughter for the sole purpose of you meeting my daughter and inviting her to church. I’ve been pleading with God for quite some time about this and I’m convinced He’s used you and your wife to answer my prayers. Thank you.” I never know what to say in those moments. Saying “your welcome” just seems odd to me, because I feel like I’m only doing my job. And yet I didn’t want to stand there in awkward silence either, so, I simply said, “Praise God.”

A few days later, we brought our beautiful daughter home from the hospital. I can’t tell you how great it is just to be able to pick her up and hold her in my arms, to smell her sweet skin, to gaze at the intricacies of God’s creation, to feel her tiny little fingers wrap around mine, and to hear the gentle coos of a healthy baby. I’m overjoyed at God’s precious gift and stand in awe with the realization that we are undeniably His workmanship. Like the masterpiece of some great artist, we were indeed created to give Him the glory.

Giver of Life: Part 2

The previous post concluded with hints of an impending trial… On August 27, 2008, the Life Giver granted us a priceless gift, the gift of life. Our little Sophie took her first breath of air around 5:37 a.m. For the next hour we simply enjoyed the moment: looking at her cute little fingers and tiny toes, breathing in that wonderful baby smell, and holding her in our arms. It was absolutely amazing. Our hearts were rejoicing and our faces showed it. Then Tammie seemed to sense that something was amiss. She looked at me and said, “I think she’s having trouble breathing.” I didn’t really notice anything, but I asked the nurse to have a look, just in case. The nurse came in and assured us that everything was fine, but that they needed to take her to the nursery for all the routine checks. We didn’t want to lose the magic of the moment, but we were confident that the excitement would resume, and that she would be back in our arms within only a few minutes. Sadly, we were mistaken.

Thirty minutes passed, then forty-five, and finally an hour, but still they had not returned our daughter. We wondered what was taking so long. Deciding that more than enough time had passed, I went in search of our little one. Finally, I found the nursery and walked in. Once inside, I noticed that Sophie was getting plenty of attention. What I should have realized is that that’s not necessarily a good thing. Naively thinking all was fine, I asked the nurse when we would be able to take Sophie back to the room, and that’s when she broke it to me. “Mr. Moore, the doctor would like to talk to you.”

Walking in on cue, the doctor explained that he was fairly certain she had a condition called “Transient Tachypnea,” or in layman’s terms, “wet lung.” (Don’t worry, I didn’t know what that meant either.) The doctor explained that during a normal birthing process most of the fetal lung fluid should be squeezed out, and the minor amounts left behind are simply reabsorbed. For whatever reason, this didn’t happen for Sophie. As a result, there is excess fluid in the way and she has to work extremely hard to take a full breath. Then the doctor walked me over to the side of her little bed, and he asked me to observe her and tell me what I saw. “She’s breathing rapidly and her stomach seems to be sinking in a lot, like she’s really struggling to get air, and it sounds like she’s humming.” He said, “We call that Tachypnea Retractions and the little grunting sound that you hear sounds cute, but it’s a bad sign… We’re going to have to admit her to the NICU, but there’s nothing to worry about. This kind of thing just takes time.”

I wanted to cry for my little princess, but I had to be strong. I needed to tell my wife the prognosis and I knew I couldn’t do it with tears in my eyes. Returning to the room I broke the news, and almost before I finished with the explanation Tammie was on her way to see her. When we got to the NICU, we weren’t exactly prepared for the sight we saw. Wires, tubes, monitors, IV’s, etc., all protruding out of our tiny baby. The doctor came over and informed us that her condition was deteriorating and so they were administering high flow oxygen. If this doesn’t work, then we’ll probably have to put her on the respirator. Tammie asked, “May I hold her?” convinced that the answer would be “yes.” She leaned forward to pick her up only to hear the nurse say, “No! I’m sorry.”

“I can’t hold my baby? When will I get to hold her?”

“When she’s off the oxygen.”

“When will that be?”

“Three days, five, maybe ten, we’re just not sure.”

After spending about an hour with Sophie, just staring at her and feeling helpless, we headed back to the delivery room. The short walk down the hall felt more like a marathon, each step heavier than the last as we walked farther and farther away from our child. We wanted an expedient recovery, we hoped for a misdiagnosis, but it wasn’t to be. Arriving back in the room, no words were spoken, but we both knew what we needed to do. So we closed our eyes and falling to our knees began to cry out to the Healer of the hurting, the Comforter of broken hearts, our Refuge in times of trouble. With tears welling up in our eyes, then gently streaming down our cheeks we joined our voices with that of the Psalmist proclaiming our faith in the Giver and Restorer of Life. “I lift my eyes to the hills—where does my help come from? My help come from the Lord, the Maker of heaven and earth.” Regardless of whichever way this troubled road turned, we were prepared for we had determined to simply “walk by faith.”

Giver of Life: Part 1

Until only a few short days ago, I have had the privilege of watching the miracle of birth three times. And with each occurrence, I have been moved to tears and filled with awestruck wonder at the power, majesty and craftsmanship of our Great God. And in that instant, when my eyes first gaze upon His beautiful creation, I find myself humbled by His amazing grace and love. It is in that moment of overwhelming joy that I am often reminded of David’s prayer in Psalm 139, “You formed my inward parts; You wove me in my mother's womb. I will give thanks to You, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made; wonderful are Your works, and my soul knows it very well.” I have to admit, prior to becoming a father, my soul didn’t “know it very well” at all. Sure, I read David’s words, but I did not appreciate them. It was only after witnessing the glorious occasion of the birth of our children that I was truly enabled to comprehend the sentiment of the psalmist.

On August 27, 2008, our lives were once again blessed with the birth of a child as we welcomed Sophie Grace into the world. The emotions that were building and the connection that had been forming for nine months culminated in those first few moments of life. Smiles appear, tears come, and hearts overflow. If you’ve been there, then you are intimately acquainted with the experience. If you have not, there is no way to properly convey the multitude of emotions bombarding your senses. To say that you are overwhelmed, ecstatic, frightened, joyous, and peaceful all at the same time only scratches the surface. Without question, the phenomenon is far beyond my feeble ability to describe, but one thing is certain. It is beautiful.

In Psalm 127, Solomon declares that “Children are a gift of the LORD, the fruit of the womb, a reward. Like arrows in the hand of a warrior, so are the children of one's youth. How blessed is the man whose quiver is full of them.” I’ve often wondered why I have been blessed with so precious a gift. What did I ever do or accomplish to deserve so great a reward? My conclusion is always the same: absolutely nothing. It is merely another act of unmerited favor from the Giver of Grace, and to Him I am forever grateful.

I wish that I could draw this story to an end with something like “and we lived happily ever after until the end of our days.” But that was not to be. Trials come, struggles ensue and the journey of life continues. For Princess Sophie it was a struggle to breathe. At first not even the medical staff noticed. Only the knowing sense of a mother that something was not quite right with her baby gave any indication. But that story must wait for another day, another post. It will be told soon, but not yet. For now, come and celebrate with us for we have been given a gift. The Giver of Life has offered and we have received a daughter.

Taste and See

One evening a few weeks ago, we had the opportunity to have dinner with a couple from church. From the very first time we met them, our 2 year old, Chloe, has called them “Grandma” and “Poppy.” Of course we aren’t related, but Chloe knows grandparents when she sees them. At first we all thought it was cute, so we never bothered to correct her. But now we’ve all come to accept what Chloe could see all along.

Like most grandfathers, Poppy is adept at switching hats between wise old sage and walking entertainment center. After dinner, he was doing a little bit of both as he took the kids off to his workshop to train them in the art of woodworking. Within only a few seconds, my two older children, Hailey and Toby, were captivated and their imaginations were in overdrive. Chloe wasn’t as impressed. She didn’t come for wood, but for the trees. She came to explore.

As she searched through the “jungles” of our friends’ backyard, she stumbled upon a treasure, a fountain of cool, clear water springing forth from the very ground. To the trained eye, it was easy to see that a sprinkler head had broken off. But through the eyes of a two-year old, it was nothing short of a miracle, a gift from God providing refreshment and retreat from the long summer day.

By the time her discovery was made known to the rest of us, her clothes were soaked. My first inclination was to reprimand her, but then God allowed me to look past the circumstances and see the heart of a little girl acting in innocence, a little girl simply being who she is, a child. We just watched her, delighting in the moment, tasting the goodness, finding refuge from the heat of the sun in the coolness of the flow, and allowing it to quench her thirst. She invited us all to do the same. Her request wasn’t long or eloquent, but the message was conveyed just the same. She merely said, “Come, it’s good.”

In John 7:37, Jesus extends an invitation of his own. He says, “If anyone is thirsty, let him come to Me and drink.” He offered, and continues to offer “Living Water.” And yet in the course of this life, we continuously reject His offer and search to gratify our thirsts in the cisterns and wells of our own doing, in the stagnant pools of idleness, and in the murky, mud stained waters of sin. But in the Psalms, David encourages us to do more. He says, “O taste and see that the Lord is good; How blessed is the man who takes refuge in Him… Delight yourself in the Lord, and He will give you the desires of your heart.”

Oh, that we would hear the testimony of the Psalmist, that we might heed the plea of our Savior. May we listen to His voice, and truly see what He has done for us. I pray that we might come into His presence, that we might come thirsty, and drinking deeply, be satisfied in Him.

Shine

This summer I took about 29 youth to Falls Creek Camp. The theme of the week was simply – Graze. “Graze” is taken from John 10:27 which says, “My sheep hear My voice, and I know them, and they follow Me.” We were reminded that we truly are like sheep in desperate need of a shepherd. We were reminded that what we needed to do more than anything else was simply “graze” on what the shepherd was offering. The week was awesome - The music melodious, the preaching powerful, the food flavorful and the activities amusing, but on Thursday night I witnessed an event that surpassed it all. It is etched in my memory and will not soon be forgotten.

I was teaching the nightly devotion which is a recap of the day’s events and a final reflection of what God was doing in the lives of the youth. All week I had sensed the Spirit moving, but had watched many of our youth turn a deaf ear. By Thursday night I had grown frustrated, and if I’m honest, a little bit angry. I even told the youth as much. I told them that I could practically hear God banging on the door of their hearts, but it was plain to see that some of them just weren’t listening. I said, “If it were up to me, I’d pick you up, throw you over my shoulder, and carry your rears to the cross. But I can’t, because that’s just not how God works. He doesn’t force Himself on anyone. Instead, He simply stands at the door and knocks. He waits patiently while we wander aimlessly. He tells us that He can help, we only need to let Him in. Tonight, I’m convinced God is knocking on hearts. The question I have for you is will you let Him in? Will you listen to what Jesus is trying to tell you?” But midway through my sermon, the power went out, not just for our cabin, but for the entire county. It was dark, and it was quiet. Normally, there would be a little free time following the devotion, but since the lights were out there really wasn’t a whole lot to see or do. So I challenged them to sing our closing praise songs with open hearts and open minds. I asked them to listen for the voice of God, to sense the Spirit’s stirring in their hearts, and to take action. To simply say to the Good Shepherd, “I am your sheep, I hear your voice and I am willing to go wherever you lead.” Asking the praise team to come and sing, I bowed my head and began to pray. I thought the night would end with a few songs and some feigned reflection, but boy was I ever wrong.

Within only a few seconds, I heard sobs and looked up to see tears flowing down cheeks. In His timing, God was moving and hearts were breaking. Teenagers were falling on their faces, repenting of their ways before a Holy God. Then I noticed him, a young man who came to camp at the invitation of a friend. He wasn’t a member of the church and I was unsure of his spiritual condition, but up to this point he had been shy, quiet, withdrawn and often appeared somewhat downtrodden. He was looking around with a look of confusion as if to say, “What the devil is going on? These people must be possessed.” In a sense they were, not by some demonic presence, but rather by the Spirit of God. I closed my eyes and continued to pray while the praise team sang on. As that song came to an end, I looked up to see the same young man praying and now even weeping. I approached him and asked if he wanted to talk. His eyes answered NO before his mouth could move. His body language screamed out in terror. I asked if I could pray for him and he timidly shook his head yes. I placed my hand on his shoulder and lifted this young man up to the Throne of Grace. Finally, after spending over an hour in darkness, the power was restored.

I spoke again for a few more minutes, acknowledging what God was so evidently doing in the hearts and lives of us all. Then I invited everyone to sing one final song of praise to our Great God. With tear stained cheeks and puffy eyes, the youth raised their voices in praise. As we sang, I looked around the room observing and taking in all that the Lord had done. Then my eyes met his and I wondered if I was seeing things. The young man that I had prayed for was now different, visibly. Something had changed, and changed dramatically. In the place where the quiet boy with the downcast face, and the withdrawn manner stood, now stood someone transformed - someone who was making a joyful noise, someone whose countenance was lifted up, someone whose face shone.

In Exodus chapter 34, we’re told the story of Moses going up on Mount Sinai. He’s there to get the Ten Commandments, but more importantly and often overlooked, he’s there to spend time with God. He’s there’s to be a sponge, to soak up every last drop of what the God of the Universe pours into him. The text tells us that Moses is on the mountain for 40 days and 40 nights and the result is nothing short of miraculous. When he comes down, the Bible says his face “shone.” The Bible says that God is light and Moses’ face testified to it. This young man had only spent an hour in the presence of a Holy God, but the results were evident. I remember wondering if anyone else was seeing what I was seeing. Then as if on cue, one of the youth leaders looked at me, his own eyes wide in disbelief, and said, “Do you see that? He’s glowing.” I smiled and thought to myself if that is what happens in just a single hour being face to face with the Light of the World, it’s no wonder that after 40 days and 40 nights that Moses had to wear a veil.

Remembering that night, I’m forced to examine my own life. I wonder what my face looks like? Does it reflect the light of His glory? Do those I come in contact with wonder at the radiance? Or has the glow faded? What about you? Does your “light shine before men in such a way that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father who is in heaven?” May we never forget that we are but a reflection of Him, that only by His grace and time spent basking in His presence, are we recharged. So go, spend time with Him, absorbing every last bit of light that you can possibly contain. And shine.

"It's what I do."

“I haven’t figured out how to tell which ones will make it and which ones won’t . . . just part of the job.”

Russell, a Veterinarian

I had a unique opportunity this afternoon to watch a family friend perform surgery on a small dog. The Chihuahua had entered into a no holds barred match with a dog ten times its size and got knocked out in the first round. It had severe lacerations to its abdomen, some of those even rending internal organs. By the time I entered the operating room, the procedure was almost over. However, in the few moments in which I had the privilege to observe my friend in action, a few things become quite clear: this was serious business (life or death), the animal that lay lifeless on the table was completely dependant on the vet to save him, the vet possessed the necessary knowledge and skill to provide assistance, and more importantly he was willing to give it.

I watched him as he skillfully sewed back together the entrails of this tiny creature with speed and precision much like a grandmother would crotchet, knit or do counted cross-stitch. He fielded my questions, chuckled at my quips and even offered a few of his own, yet tended to keep his eyes focused on the job set before him. He knew that this animal’s life was in his hands. After some time had passed, not wanting to be in the way, and really because I had had my fill of looking at intestines and other organs, I said I needed to get going. So we said our farewells, and I was off.

Later that evening, Russell called to see how my dog, Libby, was doing after her procedure earlier that day. (We had dutifully taken the advice of that wise old sage, Bob Barker, and had done our part to “help control the pet population”.) I said she seemed a little lethargic, but she was doing well, all things considered. Out of curiosity, I asked how the surgery turned out for the little guy I had seen on the operating table. He told me the surgery went well and the dog made it through fine. But after the surgery he needed to transport it to another facility for recovery and observation. Sadly, it had died en route; the trauma had simply been too much for the dog to endure. I asked him if that was frustrating. Then he answered with something that struck me as incredibly profound. “I haven’t figured out how to tell which ones will make it and which ones won’t . . . just part of the job. It’s what I do.” He had spent hours doing all within his power to bring that animal back from the grave. Years of experience had taught him that the odds were against him, but he also knew that many overcome the odds. He knew that little dog might not make it, but he also knew that it was his job to give it every chance.

Strangely enough, the Christian life is more like this situation than most of us care to admit. We, as Christians, have been given the life saving knowledge of Jesus Christ, and it’s our duty to share it with the “least of these.” Many will tangle with the big dogs of this world and will end up critically wounded, teetering on the brink between eternal joy and endless weeping. Jesus said, “Go ye therefore and make disciples of all.” Not some, not the ones who you like, not the ones who are nice to you, not the ones who fit the mold, not the ones who wear the right cloths and shop at the right stores, not the ones who have all the right talents and abilities, not the ones that attend the right schools, and not the ones that we think “will make it,” but ALL. And yet for reasons I’ll never know many of us sit in judgment, picking and choosing who should be brought to the Great Physician for treatment. Somewhere along the line, we’ve forgotten Jesus’ words recorded in Mathew 9:12, “It is not those who are healthy who need a physician, but those who are sick.”

We were all sick once. Don’t you remember? We were so sick that we died, but then the Savior came and changed everything. Do you recall the day that it happened for you? They wheeled the gurney into the ER. The staff took one look at you and knew that sin had destroyed your heart. They had seen this too many times before and they knew that if they didn’t get you to the Great Physician, you were sure to die. As they placed you on the operating table you flat-lined and were pronounced dead. Hope was lost. Then He stepped in and placed your heart in His hands, and started to massage it. Some of them said, “Why him? Why now? He’s dead. He doesn’t deserve it. He’s not worth the time or the effort. He’ll probably be ungrateful.” But the Surgeon simply smiled and said, “I know, but it’s what I do.”

There's only one thing left to say, "Welcome home, Moore Family. Welcome home."

"Believing in grace is one thing. Living it is another."

Chuck Swindoll

I’ve heard it said that grace is unmerited favor. It is neither deserved nor earned, and it can never be repaid. In fact, any attempt to do so only serves to cheapen the gift that was so freely given. The only way I can think of to even attempt to repay an act of grace would be to simply pass it on.

In Christian circles today we talk often of grace. The word is thrown around like a football at Texas Stadium. We talk of the grace of God, we say grace, we receive grace, and yet in spite of all the chatter, I’ve seldom had the opportunity to see the grace of conversation transform into the grace of perspiration. However, the last few days have been quite the exception . . .

A few short weeks ago my family and I started a new life. I changed careers, we moved to a new town, and even bought a new house. I use the word house because until today that’s all it was. You see for a house to become a home a transformation has to occur, not necessarily to the house itself, but in the way those who live there view it. This change of outlook usually occurs over time through years of love, laughter and labor. Moving around a lot, I’ve realized that time is not always a necessary ingredient of making a house a home, but the other three are imperative to the task.

Before we knew it, moving day arrived. The movers delivered the furniture and the countless boxes of stuff. If you’ve ever moved before, you know of what I speak – the mountains of boxes that seem to have somehow multiplied on their journey from your former home to this new house. Then without warning, it began. Grace showed up in my driveway. People that were barely acquaintances, let alone friends, arrived to help – in hours, furniture was put in the respective rooms and boxes were emptied. My wife and I gave a sigh of relief but each of us knew that only half of the process was complete. The real work, the task of converting the house to a home had only begun.

In the days that followed small steps of progress were made, but traversing the mountain was taking its toll. Couches, chairs and tables were moved from one place to another and the piles of pictures, knickknacks and decorations were moved from room to room in search of their final destination. As frustration grew and desperation loomed, Grace appeared again. A new friend with the awesome gift of home decorating had arrived to pass it on. With skill and purpose she reached into the piles of books, frames and fabric and pulled out fond memories of times gone by. She went from room to room, laboring for our benefit, adeptly positioning each item into its proper place. Smiles emerged and faces began to glow as we observed the metamorphosis taking place before our eyes. Blank walls that had stared back bleakly were now adorned like queens of old. Rooms that were dull and uninviting now seemed to shout, “Welcome Home”. Finally, her work was done.

I awoke this morning thinking I must have had a dream, as I walked from room to room joy filled my heart for my dream lived on past the morning - My house was now my home. A gift whose cost is practically impossible to measure had been given. It was given from a heart of love without any intent of obligation. And yet in the midst of the giving, something more was birthed – a relationship. The beauty of the relationship is that it will surpass the gift and for that matter it will surpass any gift that will ever be given for in Christ we know that it will last forever. Two thousand years ago, our Savior, Jesus Christ died on a cross for the sins of the world. He offered a gift that we did not warrant and one that we could never repay – grace. With the acceptance of His grace, a relationship is formed, a relationship that will transcend all others. Although His gift and the relationship can never be repaid, they can be passed on, and today they were.

It's Great To Be Here!

Just wanted to say "Thank you." to everyone who has made us feel welcome here in Abilene and at South Side. We're looking forward to many fruitful years of ministry here as a family.