My grown daughter asked if I would come check out this church they were considering attending. Was it a "good" church? Did it have good teaching, good doctrine? While she had loved growing up in our little country church, there simply were very few young families. We had an aging congregation. My husband and I, in our late forties at the time, were the young people there! She wanted her kids to grow up with kids their age—friends who loved Jesus, too. So, she had been doing some shopping.   A Taste of the Intangible Yet Unmistakable   I remember stepping through the doors of the church. We were greeted with smiles and warm handshakes. They offered steaming hot coffee or a cold soda. People were milling around—all kinds of people. People of different ethnicities, different ages, different income levels. People in suits and Sunday best . . . people in tattoos and tattered jeans. And there was something else—something intangible yet unmistakable. There was a freshness, a vibrancy. Looking back, I know now it was the Holy Spirit!   There was no liturgy, there were no altar cloths. In fact, there was no altar. It was in a windowless warehouse. Not a single stained-glass window in the place. The lights were low and the music was loud, but they were  praising  and  worshipping ! Again, that intangible, unmistakable something. People were standing, some with raised hands, closed eyes. Some with tears quietly sliding down their cheeks as they basked in the radiant presence of the Holy Spirit. As they sat in the presence of the One who had given them new hope—the One who had made them new.   Something was different. I needed more of this . . .   Faithful . . . But to Whom?   We came back the next week, and the next. For three years, we went to both churches almost every Sunday morning—even if they were a forty-five-minute drive apart. Whether it was our resistance to leaving "home"—to sever ties with people who had become like family—or whether it was with a mission to bring some of this freshness, this vibrancy, back to our comfortable church, we found it very difficult to leave.   I remember feeling at times like I was committing adultery! Like I was being  unfaithful  to our little country church. Like my marriage was to that place and those people—rather than to Christ—and I had been cheating on them. I had to really stop and think about what defined "church." God was reminding me that the church was not a building, but a body—of believers. It didn’t require liturgy, or altars, or stained-glass windows. It required  followers of Jesus . It could meet in homes, or churches with steeples . . . or warehouses. It was people who gathered in his name to praise him and worship him, to learn about him, to study his Word together. Most importantly, it was people who were sent out—to be the hands and feet of Christ in this dark and broken world full of lost and hurting people.   This was where I began to serve the women at the county jail. This was where we started to host children through Safe Families for Children: kiddos who needed a safe place while their mom or their parents worked through some things. This was where I learned that "serving" meant far more than serving coffee cake after the service . . .   Going Out—In Good Graces   We finally came to the decision that we would simply attend this new church. We would finish out the month at our little country church since it was my husband’s turn to usher. I sat alone in one of the back pews, where my husband could slip in and join me for the sermon. We knew it was one of the last services we might attend there, and I had no idea how to share that news with the people who had been our church family for nearly 20 years.   It came time for the passing of the peace. There are good things and bad things about every church. This was one of the really good things about this one. Passing of the peace could take a good 10 minutes. Everyone knew everyone. We wandered from pew to pew until we had shaken nearly every hand in the small sanctuary. We knew each other’s kids, we knew each other’s families . . . we knew each other. Toward the end, one of the matriarchs of the church approached me, making her way to the back pew. Once again, I would get to see how good God is. He always provides a way.   With her snowy white hair and friendly smile, she approached and extended her hand to pass the peace. And then she asked me, “Would you consider speaking the next time the ladies meet? We would like you to share with us what you are doing these days. We don’t really know what you are up to, and we would like to know.” This was my in. I would have the chance to share our news—and to remind them of the goodness of the good news!   The night of the meeting, I was able to share how God had called me to jail ministry and how my faith was being absolutely transformed. I had finally been discovering that the gospel was just what it claimed to be:  good news ! I was getting to see women’s hope restored, the power of forgiveness, and joy . . .  in the jail ! It was then that I shared that my husband and I felt that we needed to commit to this other church, that we would no longer be attending our little country church. I think they were surprised, I think they were sad—some cried, I cried. But those beautiful sisters in Christ got up and surrounded me. They laid hands on me and prayed for me. I was being commissioned.   After the meeting, the elderly woman with the snowy white hair approached me with a tear in her eye. She rested her hand on my shoulder and said, “I feel like we failed you in some way. . .” God gave me just the words to respond with: “You didn’t fail me, you prepared me . . . and now you are sending me.” That little country church had preached the truth faithfully. We had loved each other well. It was time to go share that truth—and that love.   “For where two or three gather in my name, there am I with them.” Matthew 18:20 NIV   “For just as each of us has one body with many members, and these members do not all have the same function, so in Christ we, though many, form one body, and each member belongs to all the others.” Romans 12:4-5 NIV   “So after they had fasted and prayed, they placed their hands on them and sent them off.” Acts 13:3 NIV   “Again Jesus said, “Peace be with you! As the Father has sent me, I am sending you.”” John 20:21 NIV   “For even the Son of Man did not come to be served, but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many.” Mark 10:45 NIV

We had come to fondly call ourselves the Scripture Sisters. We were a random group of about a dozen women, from about half as many denominations, that would gather every week for Bible study. We had discovered that our love for Jesus outweighed the differences in our denominational stances, and we came to cherish this sisterhood that challenged us to grow even deeper in our knowledge of the Word and our love for each other. We were currently between studies and had decided to have a movie night before we jumped into our next one.  The End of the Spear  was recommended and having just finished it, I could see why. What a powerful testament to the hope of the gospel! Evangelism at its best. Based on a true story that took place in the 1950s, it shares how a group of missionary families set out to bring the good news to tribal people who practiced cannibalism. Not an easy assignment, to say the least.   The Greatest Sacrifice   One of the missionaries was a pilot, so the plan was to fly over and drop baskets filled with good things—peace offerings, tokens of hospitality. The tribesmen came to associate the whir of the plane engines with these delightful gifts and soon would run to the beach with Pavlovian anticipation. Eventually, they decided it was time. They would land the planes on the beach and make their first attempt at personal contact—nothing to take lightly when working with cannibals.   Sorry for the spoiler, but the meeting did not end well. All five men were killed. But the most amazing part of this true story is how a couple of the women—one who had lost her brother and one who had lost her husband—returned to the tribe, ultimately bringing them to faith in Jesus Christ!   It was a great movie and there were so many good lessons, but a couple of parts really stood out to me. I remember the pilot’s son asking, “If [they] attack, will you defend yourself? Will you use your guns?” His father responded, “Son, we can't shoot [them]. They're not ready for heaven . . . we are.” Wow! Talk about unconditional love and selfless, sacrificial faith!   The other memorable part was in an interview with that same son after he was grown, played during the credits at the end of the movie. He commented that people often asked him how he could come to love the very people who had killed his father. Had it all been worth it—having lost his father and all? I can’t recall his exact response, but what stuck with me was, in essence, a paraphrase of Romans 10:14, “How will they know unless they hear?” That same passage goes on to say, “How beautiful are the feet of those who bring good news” (Romans 10:15 NIV)! He knew firsthand how important—and how costly—it was to bring the good news to those who don’t yet know it. But it was worth it.   A Voice From Behind   As I was driving home, the phrase that kept running through my head was,  “How will they know unless they hear?” “How will they know unless they hear?”  At HorsePower, we were just getting started with the Christian mentoring program and we were in a bit of a debate about the best way to run things. Should we pray together as a group every time the kids come? Or should we pray with them individually as we develop relationships and as they seem more receptive to it? Should we talk about Jesus right away, or just be kind and loving? There was much discussion about how many people had been hurt by the organized church and had been left feeling judged or ostracized, that some would never come to a program that bore the label Christian, that we should demonstrate love first and, if we got that far, bring up Jesus later. Some went as far as to say that we didn’t even need to mention his name—our actions would speak for themselves.   So, that phrase, “How will they know unless they hear?” just kept running through my head. Conviction was settling in, and tears began to stream down my face. After all, how would they know unless they heard? The good news! They needed to hear the truth—that we are  all  sinners in need of a savior, but that Christ came to die for our sins.  He  is the way, the truth, and the life.   I think the conviction came because, like the many young volunteers who left their churches disillusioned by a tendency towards truth without love, I stood on the precipice of leaning towards love without truth. Both are just as dangerous. I was coming to realize there were lots of “nice” people out there, many of whom had no faith in God. These kids didn’t need nice—they needed Jesus. And yet I was also learning they needed love just as much as they needed truth. If we are to have a kingdom impact, the two are inseparable! They needed to hear the good news—the  truth —shared with them  in love . “How beautiful are the feet of those who bring good news” (Romans 10:15 NIV)! I wanted beautiful feet in the eyes of God! My resolve to share the gospel and the name of Jesus was strengthened. We would pray in his name. We would call on his name. We would tell these kids about Jesus . . . and what he had done for  us . I seemed to need the reminder: we weren’t there to fix  them ; we were there to share him .   “This is the Way; Walk in It”   I got home to find the stack of mail on the kitchen counter as it always was, right where my husband put it. As always, I went over to rifle through it to see if there was anything of importance or urgency. The top piece of mail was from the Union Gospel Mission. Likely sharing testimonies and seeking funding, we received many such pieces of mail. This time, however, my hand froze in mid-air, holding that envelope. In big, bold, blue letters stamped across the front, it read, “HOW WILL THEY KNOW, UNLESS THEY HEAR?” The tears began anew. This is the way; walk in it . Jesus was whispering encouragement to me.  Don’t leave me out! Shout it from the mountains!   It seemed that my lessons would often come in threes. So, without wanting to test him, I couldn’t help but wonder if this same verse might not show up again. It was only a day or so later that I was driving home from work. I was talking to my mom on the phone and sharing with her the amazing way that God had shown up, affirming that I was to share the good news boldly. I told her that I was waiting on my trifecta, wondering if the verse would come up again. After hanging up, I turned on the radio to listen to the teaching on the Christian talk radio station that had become my favorite. Even as I did, I found myself wondering if it would be in this message. The message seemed completely unrelated, so I just began to listen as I drove when—there it was! The speaker said, “How will they know unless they hear?” Of all the hours of programming, of all the programs, of all the verses, there it was again. If I hadn’t gotten the message the first time, or the second . . . I got it now!  Lord, bless my feet as I go! I will do more than be nice. I will share the good news!   “How, then, can they call on the one they have not believed in? And how can they believe in the one of whom they have not heard? And how can they hear without someone preaching to them? And how can anyone preach unless they are sent? As it is written: How beautiful are the feet of those who bring good news!’” Romans 10:14–15 NIV   “For I am not ashamed of the gospel, because it is the power of God that brings salvation to everyone who believes: first to the Jew, then to the Gentile.” Romans 1:16 NIV   “Whether you turn to the right or to the left, your ears will hear a voice behind you, saying, ‘This is the way; walk in it.’” Isaiah 30:21 NIV   “Everyone who calls on the name of the Lord will be saved.” Romans 10:13 NIV

It was a program for delinquent youth—kids who struggled in school, who struggled with rules, authority, and relationships. They just struggled. Rather than throwing them in juvie, they would get an ankle monitor and report to the program every day after school. The youth lived life together with healthy supervision. They would shop and prepare meals for supper, work on homework, find constructive outlets, and perform community service together. They came to our mentoring program at HorsePower once a week, where they helped with chores around the barn and then got to spend one-on-one time with a Christian mentor and a horse.   The worker that brought them was amazing. She was so good with the kids. You could tell they just loved her—but she also had their respect. I realized she could be a valuable resource. After all, I didn’t know what I didn’t know! I asked if she would be willing to meet for coffee. I would learn a lot from her . . .   We started by sharing a little bit about ourselves. I admitted that I was at a bit of a disadvantage because I did not come from "hard." I had been blessed with a loving and supportive family, even if far from perfect. And I always had everything I needed, even if I struggled with defining wants and needs. I told her that I wanted to learn and understand more. As I finished my little litany, her response was complimentary—but not. She said, “It’s so refreshing to see someone who wants to actually live out what they believe!”   It caught me off guard and really made me think. It was kind of a compliment to me—this  new  me. Yet a harsh indictment of the  old  me—the not-too-far-in-the-past me—the me that still seemed to keep cropping up more often than I would like. It was a harsh indictment from her on the church. And I don’t think she meant just Christians. How many profess a faith or a religion yet fail to really practice what it preaches?   She went on to share a little bit about her background. She was half white, half Native American. Her father was Catholic and had gone to do mission work on one of the reservations. He ended up getting her mother, a young woman from the tribe, pregnant. He did not marry her or stay on the reservation. He took the child from her mother back to his home in New York. She had been raised, brown-skinned yet freckled, in an all-white community. She would spend time on the reservation in the summers and stood out in that world, too. She bridged two cultures, sadly not knowing to which she really "belonged." Her father and his family professed the Catholic faith, while her mother and her family still practiced some Native American traditions and rituals. As for her, she seemed disinclined to affiliate with either. "Religion" hadn’t served her well.   On the reservation, she would hear stories of how her parents and grandparents had been ripped from their families and sent to boarding schools. Far too many of them would be emotionally, physically, and sexually abused by priests and nuns, supposed ambassadors of Christ. They were punished for speaking their native language or practicing their native religion. It's hard to imagine how this won very many true converts . . .   She shared some insights into the native culture, telling a story of visiting the reservation and spending time with her grandmother. She went on to say that her grandma had such gray hair that it was almost white, and she wore it in this crazy hairdo. As an inquisitive young child, she found herself staring at that white hair worked up into an ornate, messy bun. Her grandma proceeded to, quite literally, poke her in the eyes! In Native culture, it was disrespectful to stare at an elder. You showed respect by lowering your eyes in submission to their authority. She didn’t stare at her grandmother’s hair after that—or any elder.   It was thought-provoking because I had just been wondering if she was even interested in what I had to say because she seldom looked at me as I spoke! And it explained so much about many of the kids we worked with. I thought you were  expected  to look your elders in the eye as they spoke to you as a sign of respect or attention. So, what I had perceived as disinterest, or even rebellion, in the young Native Americans that had come to the mentoring program at HorsePower was likely just the opposite!   This was such an  aha  moment. It served almost as a key, unlocking the realization that we must be careful not to make assumptions about what others are feeling or thinking. Truly, each of us has a pair of glasses through which we see the world. The lens is shaped by our culture, upbringing, personality, experiences, beliefs. I realized that this eye contact was just one of many different things that I probably misunderstood about these kiddos because we had such different lenses through which we viewed the world.   She told me how hard it was for these kids she was bringing to trust "nice." On their way out to HorsePower, she would tell the new kids, “Now, when we get to the barn, these ladies are going to be really nice. And they really are nice! You can trust them.” She went on to tell me that, in their young lives, the only people that were nice to them wanted something in return. They had no idea of genuine kindness! It was unfathomable to me. Again, such a different lens.   I don't know if we can ever really take off our glasses, but the realization that we need to try to see through the eyes of others once in a while was such an eye-opener for me (pun intended!). I want new glasses, maybe like those transition lenses that change as you move from sunlight to indoors—glasses that would help me understand the people I am sent to. Not to shift truth but to understand what someone else might perceive through their lens. Just as the Apostle Paul became “all things to all people . . . [to] save some,” I want to be more understanding of everyone God puts me in contact with so that I might be more effective and have more spiritual impact. Maybe that’s what the Holy Spirit does for us.  Lord, give me Spirit eyes to see what human eyes can’t see .   “Whoever says, ‘I know him,’ but does not do what he commands is a liar, and the truth is not in that person. . . . Whoever claims to live in him must live as Jesus did.” 1 John 2:4, 6 NIV   “Do not merely listen to the word, and so deceive yourselves. Do what it says.” James 1:22 NIV   “The precepts of the LORD are right, giving joy to the heart. The commands of the LORD are radiant, giving light to the eyes. Psalm 19:8 NIV   “Open my eyes that I may see wonderful things in your law.” Psalm 119:18 NIV   “I pray that the eyes of your heart may be enlightened in order that you may know the hope to which he has called you, the riches of his glorious inheritance in his holy people, and his incomparably great power for us who believe.” Ephesians 1:18–19 NIV   “I have become all things to all people so that by all possible means I might save some.” 1 Corinthians 9:22 NIV

SPOILER ALERT!! Don’t let this fall into the hands of anyone under the age of ten: There is no Santa Claus ! Despite the fact that we are told at a very young age, by people whom we love and trust, that there is a jovial man in a red suit who flies around the world in a sled pulled by flying reindeer, who will come down your chimney on Christmas Eve, and who will leave you presents if you are good—it simply isn’t true. We believe it for a while, but then the evidence just doesn’t hold up. When we get to school, our friends start to make fun of us if we still believe. We begin to realize a fat man could never fit down our chimney. We never see the reindeer, or even tracks for that matter. It really gets questionable when we see "Santa" at every department store and, as a matter of fact, the beard and the costume are pretty iffy—it’s clear they are fakes. Ultimately comes the final blow: we find the stash of presents in the back of the hall closet or actually catch Mom or Dad putting the presents in the stockings and under the tree! That’s it, it’s official . . . we are no longer "believers."   That could be the story for many who come from Christian families as well. They are told at a very young age, by people whom they love and trust, that there is a God in heaven who created this world, who sent His son, Jesus, to die on the cross for our sins, and that we will get to go to heaven (heard by many as) "if we are good." They believe it for a while, but then the evidence just doesn’t hold up. When they get to college—or even as early as middle school or high school—their friends start making fun of them if they still believe. They begin to realize there are things that just don’t match up with what they have been taught or have been able to observe in the physical world: any educated person knows that evolution is "proven"; virgins don’t give birth; and dead people certainly don’t come back to life! There is also the problem of the iffy costumes—people who say they are Christians, go to church, carry around their Bibles, and wear a cross . . . but who don’t look any different from the rest of the world in their day-to-day lives. Furthermore, they have a hard time reconciling the fact that if there is a loving God, why is there so much suffering in the world? If suffering is inevitable in this life, doesn’t the Bible say something about the Christians actually doing something about it? Something about being the hands and feet of Christ—loving your enemies, feeding the widow and the orphan? Too many churches seem preoccupied with building bigger buildings and planning social events and programs to the benefit of their members, often to the exclusion of those they were supposed to reach with the Good News. That’s it, it’s official . . . they are no longer "believers."   This may hit a bit close to home—perhaps it is a friend’s story…your child’s story…maybe it is even your own. The assault of scientific rationale along with what is perceived by many as hypocrisy and judgmentalism by the Christian church at large has taken its toll. It would seem that it has become a bit unfashionable for Christians to be allowed to question their faith, and even less likely that believers are actually able to defend their faith. Biblical illiteracy is rampant—even among church-goers. Many who have questions that have gone unanswered are leaving the Church. Based on five (traditionally) very basic Christian doctrines, a recent Barna poll data shows that only 9% of Americans hold a biblical worldview—and only 19% of "born again Christians." Here is the most staggering statistic, the one that compelled me to leave my job in research to focus my efforts on helping restore biblical authority: Only one-half of one percent (0.5%) of the Mosaic Generation (those born between 1984 and 2002) hold a biblical worldview!! We are losing our youth!   There may not be a Santa Claus . . . but there is a God! An amazing, all-powerful, loving God who can transform lives, and it is time that we are “ready with an answer for the hope that we have” (1 Peter 3:15)! "Woe to you, teachers of the law and Pharisees, you hypocrites! …on the outside you appear to people as righteous but on the inside you are full of hypocrisy and wickedness.” Matthew 23:27a,28b NIV   “Each of you should use whatever gift you have received to serve others, as faithful stewards of God’s grace in its various forms.” 1 Peter 4:10 NIV   “For we are God’s handiwork, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do.” Ephesians 2:10 NIV

The nonprofit had been founded as a therapeutic riding center, using horses to help people with disabilities. I came desiring to use horses to help share the love of Christ through a mentoring program for troubled youth. The nonprofit’s board was agreeable enough. If I could raise enough for my own salary—and help keep their program afloat—I could have my little Christian mentoring program. And so, there was the task of identifying suitable volunteers. It seemed simple enough to me. The job description, in my mind, was simply that they must love God, love kids, and love horses—in that order. The task was not as simple as I would have thought.   Surely we would find some suitable candidates from the long list of more than one hundred volunteers at the riding center. Several volunteers I knew were Christians, and so many other volunteers with such amazing hearts to help people—surely they were Christians as well. However, as I began to strike up conversations with people about using horses to share the love and hope of Christ, it wasn’t long into the search that some disheartening truths became evident.   First of all, many had their priorities absolutely reversed. They clearly loved the horses more than the kids, or God! And sadly, many of the Christians I approached confessed that they had “no idea how they would share their faith” (their words, not mine). This was disconcerting enough, but the following observation was even more alarming. Many of our best volunteers, I found out, were people who had actually left the church! Many were young people who wanted to change the world but were disillusioned by the lack of compassion and outreach from the churches they had attended. And another sad truth . . . the only ones who approached me with a desire to volunteer in a program to help troubled youth weren’t Christians at all.   These observations came at a time when God was working on my heart in many ways. I had begun to realize that there was a great need for a hurting world to hear the gospel—and only the church, those of us who have received God’s free gift of eternal life, could bring the gospel to these hurting people. I was faced with the hard truth that, while I had been busy in my church enjoying the blessings of having God and godly people in my life, my comfort had slipped into complacency. How had I been making a difference in the world? Who had I shared the good news with? What were we doing as the church?   The image God used to help me see that many churches were ineffective in this endeavor was a torn fishing net, where fish in the net had been slipping out. And now he was revealing these "fish" to me. Beyond the volunteers at the therapeutic riding center, I worked with a recent divorcée who had struggled in her marriage. The church they had attended was oblivious, never offering help or counsel—she ended up leaving the marriage and the church. Another childhood church friend informed me that he was now agnostic. My own son admitted to the struggles he was having with a church that seemed too inward-looking.   In this season I learned of the latest research statistics that showed a startling "rise of the nones." When asked about their denominational affiliation, more and more people were marking "none." The fish were indeed slipping out of the net. It was a mass exodus. The Answers in Genesis conference I attended helped me realize how many people were hungry for more truth, equipping, and boldness to stand up to challenges to the faith—hungry for more answers, to be sure. I was now beginning to realize how many people were also hungry for more action, compassion, outreach—more Jesus.   We must begin to mend our nets . . . to rebuild the church. Yes, we must address the questions our culture faces and be ready with an answer for the hope that we have. But we must also rise from our pews to be the hands and feet of Christ. When our actions throughout the week match the sermons we hear on Sundays, our children will see—the world will see—that this is one amazing, life-changing, life-giving God. The joy of fishing is the thrill of the catch, so let’s get our nets out. Once we experience that thrill, we can’t wait to get our nets back out.   I pray that Christians would be the  first  to sign up to help the lost and the hurting. That they would relish the opportunity to share the love and hope of Christ! That they would not only know  how  to share their faith but that they simply couldn’t  contain  their faith! That their desire to share the good news would burn deep within them, and they would become "fishers of men." May our nets be strong and full to overflowing with a bountiful catch!   “Then he said to his disciples, ‘The harvest is plentiful, but the laborers are few.’” Matthew 9:37 NIV   “And he said to them, ‘Follow me, and I will make you fishers of men.’” Matthew 4:19 NIV

Early in the morning, around 4:30 a.m., I was awakened by a cat’s persistent meowing outside my window. It didn’t seem like the caterwauling of a tom, nor the mew of a lost kitten. But it meowed . . . and meowed . . . and meowed. And this was the third night in a row! Each time I was annoyed that it had interrupted my sleep. I didn’t want to get out of my warm, comfortable bed to see about this cat outside my window. I would finally get up, go to the bathroom, perhaps peer out the window at a dark yard where I could see nothing, and then wander back to the comfort of my bed. Eventually, the cat either quit, or I simply fell back asleep.   But this morning as I lay there, annoyed and trying to will the cat to quit or myself to fall back asleep, it suddenly occurred to me . . . what if the cat had fallen into the deep egress window well just below our window! Not only that, what if the poor thing had been there for three days!!! Suddenly, I was spurred to jump out of my bed, find my robe and flip-flops, and head out into the dark. Suddenly, my annoyance turned to empathy, my frustration to action. This could actually be a matter of life-and-death! I rounded the corners of the house to get to our bedroom window and, sure enough, a calico tabby cat hunkered in the window well, frightened and desperate.   As I peered closer, she attempted to jump out—slamming repeatedly into the corrugated steel of the window well, just shy of the upper rim, unable to reach freedom. She crouched in the corner, unsure what to do. I took off my robe (thankful for unseasonably warm temps and the cover of darkness!) and tossed it over the edge of the window well. Maybe she would dig her claws into it and climb out. But she didn’t dare to try again. I decided to get our ladder. Having retrieved it from the garage, I lowered the ladder into the window well and took a few steps back. It wasn’t too long before I saw her hesitantly climbing, one rung at a time. Then she was out, free! She raced off and slipped through the slats of our fence, disappearing into the night.   After putting away the ladder and returning to bed, I lay pondering on what had just happened. As he so often does, the Lord used a seemingly inconsequential event to teach me something, to open my eyes. Isn’t it so often the very same in our faith journey? The cries of the hurting are perceived as merely annoyances or inconveniences. We attempt to ignore them or will them to go away. We make every excuse in order to remain in our comfortable existence—even as they continue to cry for help, hunkered down in the pit, frightened and desperate. It isn’t until our belief in a heaven and a hell and eternity becomes more than head knowledge of Scripture, but rather a fact that warrants reckoning, that we will be moved from our complacency to action. In the moment that we realize unbelievers will  indeed  perish and suffer eternal separation from God the Father,  that  is when we are compelled to actually do something about it.   Suddenly, we are spurred to action, leaving our comfortable lives, not caring what others think, desiring only to help those who are perishing. Suddenly, our annoyance turns to empathy, our frustration to action. This is actually a matter of life-and-death! And just like with the cat in the window well,  we  can’t actually save them. But we can offer that which can. Sharing the gospel is like lowering the ladder into the pit. It’s up to them to accept it, and if they do . . . they will find freedom.   “Now this was the sin of your sister Sodom: She and her daughters were arrogant, overfed and unconcerned; they did not help the poor and needy.” Ezekiel 16:49 NIV   “And do this, understanding the present time: The hour has already come for you to wake up from your slumber, because our salvation is nearer now than when we first believed.” Romans 13:11 NIV   “The Spirit of the Sovereign LORD is on me, because the LORD has anointed me to proclaim good news to the poor. He has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim freedom for the captives and release from darkness for the prisoners.”  Isaiah 61:1 NIV   “So if the Son sets you free, you will be free indeed.” John 8:36 NIV

He had to have been little—I think he was six. We had just moved into our house on the farm, and we were painting his bedroom. His mattress was still on our playroom floor—the playroom I had to tiptoe through to get to his sister’s room to play "tooth fairy." I was the worst tooth fairy ever—it took several days to get the quarters under their pillows. Nothing a few stories about how busy the tooth fairy was couldn’t cover! Well, this morning, I had forgotten once again. I didn’t know how much longer they would buy my cover. It was still very early in the morning; the sun was rising. The kids were both still sleeping, but it was risky. Certain that I could pull it off, I began my tiptoe through my young son’s makeshift bedroom. The farmhouse was nearly 100 years old, so I should have taken the squeaky floorboard factor into account . . .   As I gingerly stepped across the playroom, I heard a quiet little voice. “Mom?” Busted, I sat gently on the edge of his mattress, hoping he might go back to sleep. Instead, in the semi-darkness, I heard his sweet little voice ask, “You are the tooth fairy, aren’t you?” He was little, and part of me wanted to keep the fantasy of it alive for him. But he had asked, and I wanted to be honest. “Yes, I am the tooth fairy.” “You’re Santa and the Easter bunny, too, right?”  Oh, man!  All the childhood joys, stripped away at once!  But, again, I answered honestly.  “Yes, I am.” But even as I responded, there was a prompting in my heart. If he began to doubt the truth of silly children’s games—characters they are told of but never see—what would he think of God, whom they hear of but don’t "see"? Right on the heels of my confession, I found these other words pouring from my mouth. “Honey, there may not be a tooth fairy, but I will never tell you that there is no God. God is for real.” Before I could expound further, I heard that sweet little voice again saying, “Well, duh! It’s not like we go to tooth fairy school every Sunday!”   Fast forward about nine or ten years. My boy was growing up, and he had his first job. His father and I had tithed since very early in our marriage, so he was used to seeing us put our money in the offering plate each week. When he got his first paycheck, I was so proud to see him bring ten percent to put in the plate. He seemed rather pleased as well. However, as time passed, he no longer put money in the offering plate. I assumed he had fallen prey to what happens to so many of us—perhaps he had found more "pressing" needs for the money he earned, and it was trickling away before it ever made its way to the church.   Fast forward about six or seven more years. A young man home from college sat in my family room. And, amid a very challenging conversation about God and faith, he confessed that he had stopped putting money into the offering plate because he began to question what it was used for. What was being done with the money he "gave to God"? To my dismay, I couldn’t even answer to my own satisfaction. Like many churches, the incoming offering covered the salaries of the pastor and any staff and paid the bills to keep the heat and lights on. Yes, it was serving the body of believers that gathered, but what was the body doing? I'd had my own struggles of late. I had realized that while much of our time at ladies’ aid meetings and church council meetings was spent discussing  our  needs, perhaps we were missing the bigger picture. How could we better serve those outside the church walls? I began to wonder, even though we made some financial contributions to various nonprofits and ministries, how much  personal  investment had we made in sharing the gospel or loving the lost?   And so, I reflected back to that conversation on the edge of a mattress in the playroom of the farmhouse where I told my little boy to believe in a God he could not see. But then, that was what I was supposed to show him, right? Just like the wind, we may not see God—but we should see the effects of him. Our lives should look as drastically different as a grove of trees after a tornado! There should be changes in our choices, in our ministry, in our outreach, and in our hearts. We should look different than the world—not just how we talk and dress, but how we live and how we love.   It was a turning point for me. Had I shown my son "church" . . . but not God? Once again, I found myself asking that challenging question: Was I just  doing  church and not  being  the church? I feared that my legalistic approach looked far more judgmental than loving. Was I sharing unconditional love? Or was my love reserved for those who looked, acted, and thought more like me? Was I even close to loving my "enemy"? Had I fully surrendered to God, willing to do whatever he asked of me? Or had I only offered him the safe and comfortable things I chose to do? I realized I had a lot to think and pray about. God have mercy! The winds were stirring . . .   “Now faith is confidence in what we hope for and assurance about what we do not see.” Hebrews 11:1 NIV   “Do not conform to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind.“  Romans 12:2a NIV   “He has shown you, O mortal, what is good. And what does the Lord require of you? To act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God.”   Micah 6:8 NIV

The year 2009 marked the height of what would become known as the Great Recession. Times were tough economically. Businesses were really struggling. Charitable giving was down. That’s when I felt God ask me to quit my job as a research scientist and start a ministry using horses to help people. Thanks, God. No, I mean it! Thanks, God! Because that is where I started to really see God at work. That is where I started  my  descent, and God began his rightful ascent in my life.   Having finally agreed to step off the hamster wheel, it was like I finally saw the invitation I had cast off to the side—to the party I had missed all those years ago. Or perhaps the date was set for just this time. At any rate, I picked it up and dusted it off. The wheels set in motion the summer those girls came to ride horses at the farm so many years earlier began to churn in earnest.   As I looked into doing some kind of horse ministry on our little farm, I visited with an old friend who had been running a horse boarding facility for years. I wanted to talk weed control, fencing, liability insurance . . . God had other ideas. She had been hosting a little summer program called Handi-Riders, which used horses to help people with disabilities. Before I knew it, I joined forces with them intending to include a Christ-centered mentoring program for kids from hard places.  And  we had a 20-year lease on the entire boarding facility—for a dollar a year. That’s right, twenty bucks! Handi-Riders became HorsePower, and we were off to the races. I hadn’t asked God for an indoor riding arena. I hadn’t even thought of it! Yet here it was, an unprayed answer!   The Bible emphasizes the importance of asking God through prayer, yet often we fail to do so. We will say, after we have tried everything, “Well, all we can do is pray,” when that should be the very  first  thing we do. And too often we focus on the “unanswered” prayers, not realizing  God answers all prayers . The answer might just be to  wait —or  no . In this season, God showed up and showed off through a whole series of unprayed answers! Even as my pride or unbelief kept me from seeking God first, he showed up in the most amazing ways—providing things I needed and was striving for in my own strength even before I asked. Providence   One day, as I came up the gravel drive to HorsePower, I could see our part-time maintenance man busy tackling the weeds around the outdoor arena. Weedwhacker in hand, he ambled towards my car and leaned on the door to chat through the open window. He was likely in his seventies, retired other than the few hours we could pay him for at the barn. He could fix anything, worked hard, and was the nicest man you could meet. But today, he had a bit of a gripe. When would we be getting a tractor? He pointed out the obvious fact that it was near impossible to manage a horse barn without one, especially at his age. We had a feeble, old hand-me-down tractor with a broken bucket that no longer raised. We could shove the round bales around a bit, but it was useless to pull fence posts, pick up rocks, or dump manure. I commiserated with him but confessed I had no idea how we would ever afford a tractor. We were barely making payroll.   It wasn’t but a few days later that I received a phone call out of the blue from our board president. What she had to share made my mouth drop open in awe. She had received a call from the Lennox Lion’s Club. They wanted to donate a tractor! God is simply so amazing. It wasn’t a surprise cash donation, not even “just the right amount,” which, of course, would have clearly indicated God’s working. It was the very thing we needed—a  tractor ! Signed at the bottom, as I’ve come to say:  Love, God . I hadn’t mentioned my conversation with the maintenance man to anyone on the board. I didn’t know anyone from the Lennox Lion’s Club. And I hadn’t prayed about it, either. It was just what we needed, just when we needed it: Providence.   The spring of 2010 was unusual because of heavy rains that came long before the ground thawed. The frozen ground was unprepared to receive the deluge, creating a muddy mire in the few feet that were thawed before being stopped from going further by the frozen subsoil. This barnyard, designed initially for horse people with trucks and four-wheel drive, was  not  designed for the vans and mini-buses that brought out folks with disabilities using wheelchairs and canes. Seldom a day went by that spring that one or more vehicles didn’t get stuck in the mud, requiring the assistance of a chain and a tractor. (Thank God, literally, at least we had the tractor!) We tried to make light of it. The caregivers that brought our riders out to the barn took pride in not yet getting stuck—until the day they got stuck, which seemed inevitable. We thought of making T-shirts that said, “I Survived the Spring of 2010 at HorsePower,” with mud splatters as part of the design!   One large van became especially entrenched, nearly buried up to the vehicle’s underside. Most of us were too big to fit underneath to get the chain wrapped around the axle. One of our best volunteers was a tiny little thing, and she agreed to give it a try. She was able to get underneath, all right, but she emerged looking like she had been in a mud wrestling contest! As luck would have it— no , as God alone could orchestrate—this woman’s husband owned a quarry and had all kinds of connections in the gravel and paving industry. She went home to inform him that,  somehow , they would be putting in a parking lot at HorsePower. As a result of that divine appointment in the mud, we got a paved parking lot, fully equipped with curb and gutter, absolutely free! Five or six vendors in the community donated labor and materials to meet our pressing needs. Other than this petite volunteer, I didn’t know any of them. I hadn’t  dared  to pray for an entire parking lot! Just what we needed, just when we needed it: Providence.   Times were getting even tougher. Hay prices were skyrocketing. Donations had been dwindling, and we were looking at some pretty big red figures in our year-end ledger if something didn’t come through—to the tune of $30,000. I hustled to find grants, in-kind donations, new donors, and old donors. I remembered a family foundation that had given $1,000 before. I would give them another try. Every little bit would help. I didn’t pray.   This foundation was established by the family of a friend with whom I had gone to school, attended church, and been confirmed. While her father had passed away, another man was listed as the director and, assuming it was her uncle, I decided to invite him out to the barn. They say a picture is worth a thousand words. Maybe some cute kids on ponies would be worth at least as many dollars, if not more! When this man arrived, he was far younger than I had envisioned and vaguely familiar. It turns out it was not her uncle but rather her cousin. And he had been confirmed with us as well! Assuming he was a believer, I proceeded to share all that God had been doing in my life and how he led me away from a career in science to this nonprofit, using horses to help people. After “God this” and “God that,” he finally stopped me to say, “Kaia, I am not a believer anymore. I am agnostic, at best. I wish I could believe. I would love for my daughter to have something to believe in. But I am just not sure there even is a God.” As it turned out, he had so many unanswered questions about his childhood faith. Scientific "proofs" had all but robbed him of any faith at all.   I sat and pondered this, in a bit of a dilemma. Scientific evidence was a huge part of my faith journey, and I wanted so badly to hear his questions and see if I couldn’t help him see how the evidence actually supported the Bible! But I wasn’t here to evangelize. I was here to raise money for a secular organization that let me have a little faith-based mentoring program on the side. The internal debate didn’t last long. I didn’t care if he didn’t give a dime. If this prodigal had questions I could answer that might turn him around and send him back to the Father, it was a no-brainer. So, nearly two hours later, with a whole lot of discussion on geological, biological, historical, and archaeological evidence for the Bible and very little on therapeutic horsemanship, we parted ways. I was pretty sure he wouldn’t be giving any money to HorsePower, but I was consoled by the possibility that maybe, just maybe, he would be giving his heart to Jesus.   A few weeks later, nearing the year’s end without much of a dent in the $30,000 deficit in our budget, I received a call from this gentleman. He had decided to donate to HorsePower after all! He was wondering if I could come to get the check so it would be cashed before the end of the year. Absolutely! So, I met him on the arranged date and time to receive the donation. I opened the envelope and withdrew the check made out to HorsePower—for $30,000! We ended the year in the black. Just what we needed, just when we needed it: Providence.   Beggar in a Suit   Between my career in research and my time in the nonprofit world, I had spent much of my adult life asking people for money. Just before my time at HorsePower, at the beginning of the Great Recession, the head of the hospital where I worked had called me a beggar in a suit! I had been able to get money for our research program even though he had announced at the meeting just prior that no one was to come asking for more money anytime soon! I didn’t really think of it as "begging." I was  inviting . I was inviting people to participate in the exciting research we were doing. I was inviting people to support an amazing cause out at HorsePower. The key word in all this was . . .  I . It seemed like the future of the research program depended on me. The sustainability of HorsePower depended on me. And it was a heavy load to carry. While I relished the accolades and the recognition for  my  ability to raise the funds needed, it was a heavy load.   One day, as I was having coffee with a coworker, I remember confessing that I just wanted to be part of a ministry that depended on  God  to do the heavy lifting, where we would pray earnestly, trusting that he would provide for all our needs. Not that I wasn’t willing to do my part, but in light of these recent unprayed answers, I was hungry for more of God and less of me! I wanted to follow God so closely that he would make the way clear. He would orchestrate events, touch people’s hearts, and prepare the soil for rich harvests for  his  kingdom work!   As I left that coffee shop, my phone rang. It was the voice of a stranger. Someone from a new church that had started up in town. They were having their vacation Bible school and were looking for a good cause to give their offerings to. Someone had recommended HorsePower! While the offerings amounted to several hundred dollars, it also resulted in a gift from this stranger’s workplace—which amounted to several  thousand  dollars! I had never heard of this church. I didn’t know of the community fund offered by the workplace. I hadn’t prayed. Completely unsolicited, perfectly timed with my confession: Providence. It was signed at the bottom:  Love, God .   So, while the Garth Brooks song thanks God for unanswered prayers, I thank God for unprayed answers. These much-needed, perfectly timed, unsolicited gifts were building a foundation under my faith that no scientific evidence could have made. God is great, and God is good. Just think if I actually began to ask, to trust . . . to believe?!   “And my God will meet all your needs according to the riches of his glory in Christ Jesus.” Philippians 4:19 NIV   “Now to him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work within us.” Ephesians 3:20 NIV   “He must become greater, I must become less.” James 5:20 NIV

What if we stopped to take a look at our church and ask if we are truly doing what God has called us to do . . .?   What if when our council met, they prayed over the church, prayed over our leadership, discussed our worship, our education, our flock, our community—our mission . . .?   What if all our members were actively engaged in Bible study, eagerly digging in the Word, getting to know God better and His will for our life and for our church . . .?   What if we all knew God and His Word well enough to defend our faith in a world that is working so hard to tear it down . . .?   What if our families were teaching their children all through the week, prioritizing God over sports, activities, TV . . . using things that happen in this world as teaching moments to shape a biblical world view? What if fathers were the spiritual leaders of our homes . . .?   What if our young people saw God at work in our church in a way that spilled over into our everyday lives and desperately wanted that for their own lives . . .?   What if our worship was a glorious celebration of our God and Savior, people were free to stand, kneel, bow their heads, lift their hands as they felt moved by the Spirit whose presence was so tangible in the room that you couldn’t miss it . . .?   What if everyone was welcome—whether they showed up in a suit or ratty jeans, whether they were clean cut or had tattoos, whether they were "good upstanding citizens" or had a tawdry past . . .?   What if we saw people instead of suits or jeans—real people with names, with joys and hurts, with triumphs and struggles . . .?   What if people saw God working throughout the week in their lives and the lives of others, shared their testimonies, bringing that beautiful witness to support and encourage the others in attendance . . .?   What if people eagerly brought their tithe and gave generously beyond that to do the work that God was calling them to do or to support the work being done in our own church or in the community or at large . . .?   What if we started to see that some of our "needs" are actually "wants" and that there are so many others with real needs, unmet needs . . .?   What if we had a mission fund that was growing even as it was being actively drawn upon to keep up with ever increasing mission work of our church—locally and abroad . . .?   What if people were so excited about God and the work of our church—believed so strongly that what we were about was real, true, important, imminent—that everyone was eager to step up to do the work that needed to be done . . .?   What if we examined God’s word for all it had to say, not just what we wanted to hear? What if we valued truth over comfort . . .?   What if we were brave enough to stand up for the truth . . .?   What if we stood still in a busy world long enough to take time to start our day in the Word, turned down the volume of a noisy world enough to hear that still small voice . . .?   What if each and every day we were brave enough to ask, “Lord, what would you have me do today?”—and then we actually got involved, no matter what the cost . . .?   What if we saw the hurt in this world—and responded . . .?   What if we pointed fingers at ourselves instead of others and loved the unlovable . . .?   What if our church became more than just a building, and actually became the hands and feet of Christ . . .?   Sometimes I just wonder, what if . . .?

I found myself really struggling with church the way I had been doing it. I was beginning to realize that I had been "doing" church — I wasn’t "being" the church. I realized that so many of the older, traditional denominational churches were stagnant and dwindling to non-existence across the countryside —across the country. It was about this time that I awoke, once again, with fresh images in my mind and an inkling as to what it meant . . .   At the farm where we raised our kids, there was a classic, gambrel roofed barn — red with white trim. The inside had been modified to accommodate large pieces of farm equipment. The center of the hay loft had been cut out leaving the middle of the barn lofted all the way to the roof. The two front doors were massive and swung open, difficult to move once the grass grew up around the base. We opened them in the spring and didn’t close them again until the fall.   In my dream, one of the hinges to these giant doors had broken and the door was dangling precariously. I intended to fix it myself when I realized there was no way I could do that. If the door became dislodged, I could be crushed or seriously hurt! There was no way I had the strength to do it on my own. In the dream, I realized that I would need to wait until my husband, my son, and my son-in-law arrived. They would be stronger and able to help me fix the door.   Upon awakening, I realized the broken door represented the church at large. The church was broken. As much as I wanted to fix it, I could not do it on my own. Others would be showing up on the scene to help. I was to wait for help to arrive. While it would seem logical (and clearly true) that God could/would be the one to help — the meaning of the vision at the time seemed clear to me that other people would be drawn into the effort I was being called to. I wasn't sure exactly where I was headed, or who I would meet along the way, but it was the beginning of realizing the true meaning of church — and there were no walls involved . . .     “ For just as each of us has one body with many members, and these members do not all have the same function, so in Christ we, though many, form one body, and each member belongs to all the others.” Romans 12:4-5 NIV   “For where two or three are gathered in my name, there am I among them.” Matthew 18:20 NIV   “Not neglecting to meet together, as is the habit of some, but encouraging one another, and all the more as you see the Day drawing near.” Hebrews 10:25 NIV   “That which we have seen and heard we proclaim also to you, so that you too may have fellowship with us; and indeed our fellowship is with the Father and with his Son Jesus Christ.” 1 John 1:3 NIV

I love science. I have always loved science. It was obvious from early on, considering I can remember dissecting a dead blackbird I found in the backyard before I was old enough to use pointy scissors! So, getting a double major in wildlife and fisheries sciences and biology, with a minor in chemistry, probably didn’t surprise anyone.   As a young mother of two, I found myself working as a research technician in the lab of a busy cardiologist—so busy I rarely saw him! Eventually, I would get my PhD in physiology with an emphasis in cardiovascular physiology. I did this with an ulterior motive. It would allow me to have more leadership in the lab, but it would also allow me to earn more even as I continued to work part-time so that I could spend more time with my young kids. Win-win!   Pushing the Boundaries of Innovation   Somewhere along the way, I read an interesting article in the local newspaper. A chemist at my alma mater, South Dakota State University, was working with an exciting photochemical with some really interesting properties. I remember reaching out to him to learn more about their endeavors and was excited to learn that our interests overlapped and our expertise complemented one another. A great partnership ensued that would take my career to places I never dreamed of going.   We were developing a platform technology, meaning that it could be used in many ways—in different fields, for different purposes. It could be used to bond tissues together, bond things to tissues, deliver drugs and tether them in place, and open blocked arteries without using a metal stent. Applications ranged from dermatology to ophthalmology to cardiology and beyond. It was an exciting journey . . . with its pros and cons. It resulted in patents and licenses and generated a lot of interest and much potential. It was also demanding more and more of my time. My resolve to be home more with my family was being tested, more travel was required, and Sundays didn’t seem to be off-limits. As exciting as it was and as much as I loved my team and the technology we were developing, I began to have a gnawing discontent.   Pushing God’s Boundaries   There is a dark side to the medical industry—perhaps to any industry—the part where power and greed overshadow benevolence. The golden rule here was “he who has the gold rules”! It became apparent why some called venture capitalists  vulture  capitalists—the mighty dollar was king. I saw a great tendency to set aside what would be common decencies or fair practice in other settings, rationalizing that the end justified the means. I can’t tell you how many times I heard, “Don’t take it personally; it’s just business.”   As my faith was growing and my eyes were being opened in so many ways, the contrast against this darkness that was emerging as we pursued lucrative markets and jockeyed competitive negotiations was stark. I remember having like six tubes of mascara at one point because I would find myself crying at work and needing to buy more! I remember in this season that, when typing my email, there were so many times where the “t” in my last name was somehow missed, and it came out as K- loser  rather than Kloster . . . and there was this nagging feeling that it had a ring of truth. I remember hearing the verse “What does it mean to gain the whole world, only to lose your soul?” over and over in my head—before I really even knew that verse or where it was found in the Bible.   Letting Go   I knew that we were called to be  in  the world, just not  of  the world, and part of me wondered if I was being called to bring “this little light of mine” into this dark place. But a greater part of me knew I needed to leave, and my husband agreed. It was probably one of the hardest decisions I have ever made, and it took me something like three years to do it. But leave, I did. And I had no idea what was next.   Looking back at that gnawing discontent, I have come to see it, perhaps, as a holy discontent.  God seemed to be squeezing from me the very thing I loved. And I was soon to learn that science was only the first of many things he would ask me to release. I was like a little kid who had had their hands in the candy jar. A loving parent asks them to give the candy back, knowing it would make them sick if they ate it all. The child may readily let them take the loose pieces, the ones hanging out the sides. But then there are those last precious pieces that remain in tightly clenched fists. God is a loving Father, and he was gently prying things from my clenched fists. Not to withhold good things from me but to leave me with open hands, ready to receive something even better.   “What good will it be for someone to gain the whole world, yet forfeit their soul?” Matthew 16:26a NIV   “For you were once darkness, but now you are light in the Lord. Live as children of light.” Ephesians 5:8 NIV   “Those who live according to the flesh have their minds set on what the flesh desires; but those who live in accordance with the Spirit have their minds set on what the Spirit desires.” Romans 8:5 NIV

I was in a big house. It was night. I was alone. There were many floors, many rooms, and so many doors —none of which were locked. And there were windows everywhere—none of which had coverings. The lights were on, and I was well aware that my every movement in the house was obvious to anyone out in the dark. There was no hiding.   Dark figures dressed all in black skulked about outside. Looking in the windows. Waiting outside the doors. I couldn’t see them nearly as well as they could see me, but I knew they were there. I suddenly realized that they had always been there, looking for ways to get in . . . I just had never really noticed them.   I had a sort of cautious respect for them and what they were capable of, but no fear. At one point, I was standing by an unlocked glass-paneled patio door with no blinds or curtains—nearly eye-to-eye with one of the dark figures. And yet, no fear. I knew, and had every confidence, that those figures would not— could not —enter the house. It was as though there was an impenetrable seal that I knew they could not break through. I was safe. Demons are for real!   Yet again, God brought Scripture to vivid life for me in such a graphic dream. Drawing up emotions and bringing insights, revealing truths that I knew but were not yet made real to me. You see, Scripture warns that the devil prowls like a ravenous lion, seeking to devour. We are informed that our battle is not against flesh and blood but against the powers and the principalities in the air. He does not leave us unaware but tells us that there will be spiritual warfare . . . demons are for real!   For those of us raised hearing Scripture read on Sundays in church, we know many of these truths, yet they are lost on us. We fail to acknowledge just how real the battle is. Whenever we become more aware, we can become fearful of such things. After all—demons are for real?!   I remember teaching the high school youth at our little country church about angels and demons. As I read scriptural passages that referenced spiritual beings, both good and evil, one student—who had been churched her entire life—asked incredulously, “You mean demons are for real?!” I knew we couldn’t stop there. God does not leave us unaware, but neither does he leave us unequipped. So we went on to read about the armor of God from Ephesians 6. He gives us the defensive weapons of the belt of truth, the breastplate of righteousness, the shield of faith, and the helmet of salvation. And then there is the sole offensive weapon, the sword of truth—God’s Word, the Bible. And, of course, the power of prayer. Sealed by the Spirit   Ephesians 1 also tells us that once we become Christians, we are marked in Christ with a seal, the promised Holy Spirit. Scripture teaches that while the devil and his minions (demons) may oppress us—pester and plague us, bringing worry, doubt, and fear—they may not possess us. Our souls are sealed by the power of the Holy Spirit! So, we can face these spiritual adversaries without fear. Our souls are secure. Impenetrable! We can let our light shine in this dark world, knowing with every confidence that the darkness cannot enter into our hearts. Indeed, we are to let our lights shine before others, that they may see our good deeds and glorify our Father in heaven.   This knowledge—this assurance—would prepare me for the mission field God was sending me to. I would go to some very dark places, but I found newfound courage and peace when I went with his light! So, turn the lights on, and don’t pull the drapes. And don’t fear that which has no power when we call on the name of Jesus. Let a watching world see that they may come to trust and love the God we serve, who is Lord over all and who can cast out fear! There are so many who, like that young student, need to know these truths. We will live out our faith entirely differently once we  know .   “Be alert and of sober mind. Your enemy the devil prowls around like a roaring lion looking for someone to devour.”  1 Peter 5:8 NIV   “For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms.” Ephesians 6:12 NIV   “And you also were included in Christ when you heard the message of truth, the gospel of your salvation. When you believed, you were marked in him with a seal, the promised Holy Spirit” Ephesians 1:13 NIV   ”Therefore put on the full armor of God, so that when the day of evil comes, you may be able to stand your ground, and after you have done everything, to stand.” Ephesians 6:13 NIV   “In the same way, let your light shine before others, that they may see your good deeds and glorify your Father in heaven.” Matthew 5:16 NIV