Love Looks Like Something. What does it look like?

   In John 13 it says that they will know us by our love, which raises the question, how do we love well? I find myself asking this question often. I do not presume that I know how to fully answer this question. I would say that It looks different each time we ask the question.

Love looks like something. What does it look like?

    A few weeks ago love looked like buying a young woman lunch and inviting her to help us with an outreach (treasure hunting). Before the end of the day she handed me all of her drugs and now she's in rehab. none of us told her to stop doing drugs. Shoot, she was high when we took her out with us. We just gave her lunch and let her see the power of God on display. But something happened. In the mist of us being imperfect and trying to release the kingdom, this young woman was convicted of the Fathers great love for her. He spoke truth over her and she was undone by His goodness.

Love looks like something. What does it look like?

   Last Friday a group of us went out to Tower Grove Park to release worship and prayer over the city. As we were praying for the heart of the Father to be revealed I noticed a woman with her head covered sitting by herself on a bench. I went over to her to see if she would let me bless her. I very quickly realized that she was from Iraq and didn't speak any English. so I pointed to myself and in very broken Arabic mixed with English said, " I salaat to Allah for you?" She nodded and I prayed over her. then Jeff said "Esau" and she said "Oasis". Oasis is a ministry in St. Louis to the refugee. Then she gave us some bread and listened to us worship until we left. Funny thing is, after we prayed over Saria the spirit of the Living God broke out in that place and we were able to minister to numerous other internationals who were there. some of them were actually following us around the park.

Love looks like something. What does it look like?

   In John 14 Jesus says that if we love Him, we will obey Him. Love it necessitates a response from the beloved. Love looks like something. It requires us to do something. So, how do we love well? I think it looks different each time but to quote Christine Caine, "There is only one love language, die to self." Maybe love looks like killing your pride and brutalizing someone's language in the hope that they will experience the love of Christ through your foolishness. Maybe it looks like sacrificing your wallet to care for a drug addict. Maybe it's giving your time to some street kids half way around the world who just need someone to believe in them. Or maybe it's as simple as mowing your neighbors lawn.

Love looks like something. What does it look like?
This is a question that I pray I never stop asking.

Why I run

    I was born in Louisiana, the youngest of three. One day, around my third birthday I was going around the house singing a song about trains, heaven and hell. My brother Jake kindly informed me that I would be on the train to hell but everyone else in the family would be on the one to heaven. My brother lead me to Christ that day.

     A few months later I started telling my mom that I need to be baptized. I even told her the day that I needed to be baptized on. She tried to dissuade me for a few weeks but I wouldn't budge. Finally, she talk to the pastor about it. He said there was no way. Not only was I too young, but the church wasn't doing baptisms on that day. He told my mom that he would talk to me about it. A few days later I went to meet with the pastor. I have no idea what I said to him. I was three, and my mom can't tell me because she didn't go in the room with us. We talked for about an hour. When Pastor Tyce came out he told my mom That he had no idea what God was telling me or why it was so important but he was convinced that I was hearing from God. So I was baptized in 1988 on Pentecost Sunday. We moved to Germany a little later that year.
  

     Between the ages three and six I saw my first demon, started self-harming, and was sexually abused. I tried to tell my mom about the abuse, but because I was young and didn't know how to communicate she didn't understand what I was saying. So while she was in one room talking about how great Jesus was, I was forced to go in the other room to "play." I couldn't understand why God
would let this happen. I mean, my mom was right in the other room talking about Him. If He loved me, why wouldn't He tell her so it would stop. My view of God started to change from a God of love and power to a God who hated us and just didn't care.

     When I was nine we moved back to the states. The first church we went to we stayed at for about a year. Every Sunday and Wednesday I would get chased around and teased for being a boy. We left that church and went to another one that was even better. My new Sunday school teacher told all of the kids in my class that I was gay and the only way to help me was to beat the gay out of me. For the next two years every time I went to church I would get beaten up. I didn't even know what "gay" was. I just liked climbing trees. This further attacked my femininity and fueled my hatred for God and his people. When we finally left that church I resolved in my heart that I knew who God was. That He was mean and hated us and I was going to do everything I could to piss Him off.

     I was still self-harming. I started smoking and drinking. I decided that I would find my worth and value in boys. When I was 14 I started using drugs and looking into other religions. I figured that Wicca and Satanism would really make Him mad so I focused on them. I lost my virginity two weeks after my seventeenth birthday and began selling drugs shortly after. The only reason I would go to church was to confuse the kids, sell drugs, and it was the only place my parents wouldn't ground me from.

     Twenty-seven days after my eighteenth birthday I was raped. I became extremely depressed and suicidal. I was about to graduate and had no idea what I was going to do. I remembered my mom saying something about asking God so I did. That night while at youth the Pastor asked for a volunteer.  Not knowing what I was volunteering for I raised my hand. He called me up on stage and asked me to pray. I can remember thinking, "Out of all the people you could have got up here, you call the drug dealer who hates God." While I was praying I heard God say "This is what you will do." To which I very quickly responded, "You're stupid! You can't make a living praying!" A few weeks later I left for the navy.

    I stopped using drugs but began drinking more. While in the Navy I went through series of bad
relationships, from bad to worse. The last one became physically, emotionally, and sexually abusive. I was finally able to get out about a year later when I got out of the Navy. I went home and stayed with my parents for a while. One day my mom convinced me to go to a Joyce Meyers conference with her. One of the speakers was Christine Caine. I have no idea what the other speakers said but there was something about what Chris was saying that made me rethink this whole God thing. I started going to church with my sister and serving with the youth. My idea was, "God, you're mean and you hate people. But maybe if I stop trying to piss you off you'll stop making my life suck so bad." I was still drinking, self-harming, and sleeping around I just didn't let anyone at church know. I was really trying to be a Christian and follow the rules, I was just really bad at it.

     In 2008 I found out about Mercy ministries and through a course of events I started the application process. I walked through the doors of Mercy at 1pm on March 24th 2009 and my life will never be the same.

    While I  was at Mercy I learned who I am in Christ. That my name is His word for "delight." He showed me where He was during all of the painful times in my life, and during all of my time of running He was crying, "Come to me! " He showed me that those things weren't His will for me. God didn't make a mistake when He made me. He's not angry. He has such a happy heart. He ravished my heart with His love for me. When I went to Mercy I was a suicidal, clinically depressed, borderline personality, self-harming, emotional drinker. And now I'm not! I'm free. Those labels don't define me. God does. He says that I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me. I am a new creation in Christ Jesus.  The old has gone the new has come. I am not a victim, I am a victor. I am the head and not the tail. I have the same authority as Christ because I am in Christ. I am the righteousness of God in Christ. It's not about me it all about Him. I graduated from Mercy Oct 12th 2009.

    God continues to ravish my heart on a daily basis. Since Mercy God has shown me that He's not just concerned with the big things. He cares about the whispers of our heart that we're to scared to mention. Time and time again God has supernaturally provided for me with jobs and finance. By His grace I've seen Him cast out demons, heal the sick, and raise the dead. I've witnessed the lost be found time and time again. I am now a missionary with the Gateway house of prayer in St. Louis. Go figure I'm praying for a living. I have purposed it in my heart to serve the Lord, my Beloved, with

all of my might. My portion in this life is Him.

     You know, I used to think that Christianity was boring but since I met Jesus I have been on the adventure of a lifetime. When I think back on how I used to treat God, how much I hated the One that today is so precious to me, it causes me to weep. He is Faithful and True and He never left me. His mercies are new every morning. I don't know much but what I do know is that God is good and He deserves everything and I will spend the rest of my life giving Him all that I have.

     I don't know where I would be today if it weren't for Mercy. I know that it is for freedom that Christ set me free. It is my privilege to do whatever I can to see others get free. That is why I run. I run to see other girls walk in the freedom that Christ offers. I run for the girl who can't. I run for the one who doesn't know her worth. I run for Mercy.

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freedom!!

    In honor of the 4th of July, the day we celebrate the freedoms we enjoy as American citizens, I have decided to write about the freedom that Christ brings to those who choose to be pilgrims and foreigners in this life. (1 Peter 2:11). Four years ago, I knew nothing of this freedom which Christ sacrificed everything for. Galatians 5:1 says, "It was for freedom that Christ set us free". It is not in the death of Christ that we are ransomed but rather in His resurrection. He did what the Law could not do and ransomed us from the law of sin and death to the Law of Grace. (Romans 8). Because of the Law of Grace we can now join in agreement with the Spirit in crying out, "Abba Father!"

 

 

    For as Long as I can remember, I have been very aware of the freedoms we have as Americans as well as the price that is paid for those freedoms by brave men and women. My grandparents met in Italy during WWII. My grandmother and her family were part of the resistance and were in hiding from the Nazis. My grandfather was a Gunner in the U.S. Navy. Had brave men and women not fought and even given their lives for the freedom of others, my grandmother would have been found by the Nazis and killed. I owe my very life to the men and women who fought in WWII.

 

 

    I was raised to believe that I owed my country a debt. Even more, I owed a debt to the service men and women who protected my freedom when I could not. When I turned 18 I joined the Navy to repay that debt. I joined to fight and protect the freedom of the ones who had gone before and those who would come later. There is a saying " All gave some, some gave all." that is still true today. The fact of the matter is that freedom isn't free. The price of freedom is paid with blood.

    There is another freedom that I knew nothing of until four years ago. This is a divine freedom that only God can give. It is a freedom that allows us to forgive knowing that we have a righteous Judge who has seen and taken account. It is the freedom to let go because He never will. It is the freedom to learn from Him how to take His yoke of meekness. It is the freedom to say you have wronged me and I have every right to exact vengeance on you but for your good I will restrain. It is the freedom that we see Christ use on the cross when He had all right and ability to pour out His wrath on us but instead He restrained Himself and took our punishment on Himself.

 

  On March 24th, 2009 I walked through the doors of Mercy Ministries. I was full of hatred, bitterness, and unforgiveness. I was a self harming emotional drinker. For as far back as I could remember I was depressed and tormented by thoughts of suicide. I had PTSD as well as 4 other mental diagnosis. Every time I would reach out for help I got a new disorder and they tried to give me another kind of pill. Really, I didn't think that I would ever be free. There was no hope. The thing is, I was wrong.

    Earlier I said that the price of freedom is paid with blood. When I was at Mercy I learned just how true that statement is. Jesus paid the price for my freedom with His blood.

Isaiah 53:3-5 says, "He was despised and forsaken of men, A man of sorrows and acquainted with grief; And like one from whom men hide their face He was despised, and we did not esteem Him. Surely our griefs He Himself bore, And our sorrows He carried; Yet we ourselves esteemed Him stricken, Smitten of God, and afflicted. But He was pierced through for our transgressions, He was crushed for our iniquities; The chastening for our well-being fell upon Him, And by His scourging we are healed."

     I learned at Mercy that someone had already paid the price for my freedom. I didn't have to live as a slave anymore. I was free. "All gave some, some gave all". At Mercy I learned that Christ gave all. My blood can't do what Christ's blood already did. But I can give my all by taking the freedom that He has given me and sharing it with others. I'm not an addict. I'm not a self harmer. I don't have PTSD. I am more alive than I ever thought possible and I am the happiest person I know. It is for freedom that Christ set us free. Let the bells of freedom ring for we have been emancipated from the law of sin and death, thanks be to God for Christ Jesus our Lord!

 

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The Art Conference

What do you think of when you hear "art conference"? I think of someone trying to teach me to draw or paint. Maybe a new technique will be discussed. Perhaps the speaker will talk about art in history. When I think of an art conference I do not general think of humility. I would not think that the goal of the speakers would be to bless, honor, and serve the people in the audience.

Imagine with me for a moment. You hear a single guitar but its player is completely hidden from view. As you look for the musician, you notice a potters wheel on the stage. A man walks over to the wheel and starts throwing pottery. Then he speaks. He speaks about the potters house. As he forms the cup he is making, he explains how he has to form and mold it, how he is cutting away the imperfections. He explains how when he is done he will put the cup on a shelf and he will leave it there until it is bone dry. If I were the cup, I would feel forgotten and abandoned. Oh how I would long for the days when I could feel the potters hand. How I would yearn for just a little water. I would question if the potter would ever return to me. But, the potter knows better than I, the cup. The potter knows that if there is any moisture in me when I am put into the kiln, I will be ruined. He explains how he never forgot about the cup and he is eagerly waiting for when he can use it. First it must be fired. In the fire the makeup of the cup changes and it is never the same. It can be filled over and over again. This is the first night of the art conference.


Here Artist were honored. Artist were envisioned. I will be the first to admit that this was not at all what I expected. I did not expect that a drama team would travel numerous hours with small children so they could speak freedom from comparison over a room full of hurting artist. I did not expect that one of the key note speakers would validate the unknown artist in the room and give them places of honor. I did not expect that one of the other speakers would stay at least four hours after the doors were locked every night to pray over people. I did not expect that the people we were honoring would humble themselves just so they could lift up the heads of others. This was unlike any other conference I have been to. This was an upside down conference for an upside down Kingdom.

This day

 Over the last few months I have had the privilege of meeting with numerous people in the church. Through these meetings I've started to become aware of a startling reality. The majority of them have deep wounds that have never been addressed. The fact of the matter is that a large portion of the Bride is hemorrhaging from critical wounds and nobody is noticing. What is even more startling is that these wounds have been administered by ministers of the Gospel.

I am not saying that these wounds have been caused on purpose. We as ministers have simply become complacent with the Bride. We have been careless with our words and deeply wounded the Lord's Beloved. It is imperative that we handle the Lord's Beloved with care. I know that I have over looked people as I was hurrying to do good and important things. The fact of the matter is that by not stopping to notice them I have mishandled them and reinforced in their hearts the lie that they are forgotten and unimportant. I have wounded the Bride. Let this not be said of us.

We as ministers must be ever aware of the very fragile state of the Bride. While financial stewardship is a topic that we are all familiar, I fear the importance of stewarding hearts has been over looked. Beloved, we have been entrusted with the stewardship of people. Let it be said of us that we noticed. Let it be said of us that while on our way to our next meeting we stopped, crossed the street, and took the time to bandage up the wounded. Let it be said of us that we learned to love well.