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We raised our kids on a little hobby farm and, amongst many other kinds of animals we kept on the place, there were my precious horses. From a very young age, I have absolutely loved horses. I never thought of them as an idol, but as I grew in my faith it became clear: these creatures captivated my heart, my mind . . . they consumed my time, my finances. In many ways, horses had taken the place in my heart that should have been reserved for God.  When we moved to town as I began my ministry in earnest, we found homes for all the horses we had at the time except for my horse, Levi, who moved to my daughter’s farm. However, within a year or so of leaving the farm, all of them were gone. Not just gone, but dead. The last to go was my big, black gelding. Several years later, I was taking a class on Ezekiel at a local seminary and it occurred to me that all my "idols" had been "struck down." The loss of Levi was especially graphic and painful, occurring right before my eyes. And so, the dream I had came with especially powerful emotions.    In this dream, I went to check our horses that had been out to pasture and which I had, honestly, not been checking on as often as I should have. As I approached a pasture, which was not really the one we had had in real life but was ours in the dream, several horses began to emerge from the trees and shrubs. They were our horses, the ones we had had at the farm. I remember in particular that Spanish and Levi came out together—not surprising as they were buddies in real life. But when Levi came out, I could tell right away that something was terribly wrong.  First of all, he was saddled and bridled! And it wasn’t my tack. Why was he saddled? And whose tack was it anyway? And then, it got even worse. I could see he was not right. He was sluggish and slow to move. He had the inward-turned gaze of a horse in great pain. He wasn’t very aware of anything going on around him—all his attention was tuned in to whatever was causing such pain. As he came closer, the horrifying truth was evident. He was gutted—slit clean down the middle of the belly from front to back. There was no way he could have been alive, let alone walking, in real life. And yet, he staggered out.   As I awoke, it was very clear to me that Levi represented God’s Word. John 1 tells us that Jesus is The Word and Jesus is God. So essentially, what I had been idolizing in life represented what I should have been idolizing all along. Not just in words, but with every fiber of my being. Just like I had failed to be looking after my horses in my dream, I realized I had not been looking after God’s truth either. I was a church attender who infrequently read my Bible, when it was convenient, looking for the parts I wanted to hear that would help with whatever I needed at the moment.  Now, after leaving my job for the second time and as I was starting to really dig into God’s Word and realizing how the world was seeing and/or portraying God, the imagery in the vision made perfect sense. As a culture, even as a Christian community, we have been adding things that we want to believe even when God’s word doesn’t say it—thus the strange tack being "added." Furthermore, God’s truth in many ways has been essentially "gutted." We have ripped out the parts we don’t like or don’t understand.  The state of my beloved horse in my dream was precisely what we were doing to God’s sacred Word. Adding and taking away parts as though we have any right or authority to do so. Indeed, scripture warns us that we are not to add or subtract from His commands. And yet, if we look at our culture today, this practice is rampant. I have come to call it the "Mister Potato Head" god—people pick and choose parts like it was a toy to play with. While scripture teaches that the gates of hell will not prevail against God’s church—what I saw in my vision with the weak, sickly, staggering horse could very well represent the state of the organized church/religion in America . . . weak, sickly, and staggering.    “…your altars will be laid waste and devastated , your idols smashed and ruined, your incense altars broken down, and what you have made wiped out.” Ezekiel 6:6b NIV   “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.” John 1:1 NIV   “Guard the good deposit that was entrusted to you— guard it with the help of the Holy Spirit who lives in us.” 2 Timothy 1:14 NIV   “Do not add to what I command you and do not subtract from it, but keep the commands of the Lord your God that I give you.” Deuteronomy 4:2 NIV   “I warn everyone who hears the words of the prophecy of this scroll: If anyone adds anything to them, God will add to that person the plagues described in this scroll.    And if anyone takes words away from this scroll of prophecy, God will take away from that person any share in the tree of life and in the Holy City, which are described in this scroll.” Revelation 22:18-19 NIV

We had weathered the Great Recession at HorsePower and so many things seemed to have fallen into place.  Some tough transitions on the board had been smoothed over.  Donors had been faithful and seemed pleased with how things were going.  Programs were expanding and new ones were being added.  Most importantly, riders’ lives were being changed by these wonderful programs—including our new mentoring program.  It was a fruitful season in many ways.  So why, then, this gnawing discontent?!  Holy discontent ?  Was God trying to pry this from my hands, too?  I thought I had been called there?  I was so confused.   Back on the Hamster Wheel   While I had left science fully intending to follow God, I’m afraid somewhere along the way I grabbed the reins again.  Even though he had provided in so many amazing ways—leading me to HorsePower and arranging for a twenty-year lease on an entire horse facility (for twenty dollars!); providing a tractor, a parking lot, and $30,000, completely unsolicited—I still seemed to think that I was in control!  It was like the Israelites wandering in the desert.  God had parted the Red Sea and rained manna and quail from heaven, yet they longed for the cucumbers and leeks they used to get in Egypt.  They wanted to go back to Egypt, where they had been slaves.   Even as God had proven so faithful in providing, I found myself striving.  We would spend hours planning special events like banquets and silent auctions and benefit horse shows—at the expense of our programs, our very mission…and even our relationships.  I found myself back on the hamster wheel, running as fast as I could and yet not really getting anywhere!  I had filled my time with busyness and no longer seemed to be hearing from God.  The weight of keeping this dog and pony show—well, literally, a pony show—running was falling heavily on my shoulders.  If I had stopped to compare the fruits of our labors with the generous gifts of God, I may have spent less time begging businesses to donate auction items and more time in prayer!  But I just kept running on the hamster wheel…   Idols and Addictions   Since leaving my career in research, my husband and I had made a move into town.  You don’t make quite the same salary as the director of a nonprofit as you do as the CEO of a biomedical company.  So, we had sold the acreage that we loved and that held so many memories of our kids’ growing up years.  We had given away all of our horses, with the exception of my gelding.  In less than a year, one by one, each of the horses we had given away had died—rather suddenly.  And just that summer, my own horse—my only horse—had died of colic, right before my eyes.  God had wrested my beautiful acreage and even my beloved horses from my clenched fists.  Idols.  Struck down.  Had I held HorsePower too tightly, as well?  Over the five years I spent there, had I lost sight of God and made it about me?  My  ability to form collaborations, to find volunteers, to raise funding.  I’m afraid so.  Like an alcoholic that goes into a bar, I can quickly be consumed by my own addiction—my desire to achieve, to accomplish, to be recognized, to be in control.  I had relapsed!  I knew it was time to leave.  So, leave, I did.  It only took about six months this time.  And I had no idea what was next.  All I knew was that the realization that so many were leaving the church had relit the fire for helping restore the authority of scripture.  Perhaps this would be part of God’s plan for me…   “This is what the Lord says: “Cursed is the one who trusts in man,who draws strength from mere flesh and whose heart turns away from the Lord. That person will be like a bush in the wastelands; they will not see prosperity when it comes. They will dwell in the parched places of the desert, in a salt land where no one lives. But blessed is the one who trusts in the Lord, whose confidence is in him. They will be like a tree planted by the water that sends out its roots by the stream. It does not fear when heat comes; its leaves are always green. It has no worries in a year of drought and never fails to bear fruit.”” Jeremiah 17:5-8 NIV   “Yet when I surveyed all that my hands had done and what I had toiled to achieve, everything was meaningless, a chasing after the wind; nothing was gained under the sun.” Ecclesiastes 2:11 NIV   “Trust in the Lord with all your heart and ean not on your own understanding; in all your ways submit to him, and he will make your paths straight.” Proverbs 3:5-6 NIV   “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.” Matthew 11:28-30 NIV

She was sitting alone on her cot in the fellowship hall—Bible open on her lap. As we had worked that day, providing disaster relief following devastating tornadoes in Oklahoma, I noticed she was often alone then, too. Realizing she was the only woman who had come from her church, I wondered if she might be a little lonely. I left the group of women I had come with, including my grown daughter, and went over to strike up a conversation. I opened with what seemed like a simple question, “So, what are you studying?” Her response would profoundly impact me and still ripples to this day.   Raw Confession   She was doing a study on the book of Hosea. I wasn’t terribly familiar with this particular book at the time, but it is about a man that was asked by God to marry a prostitute—and to stay with her, even as she had numerous adulterous affairs. She would wander off, and he would keep taking her back. The parallels between her infidelity and Israel were apparent—how Israel kept chasing after the gods of other nations and how God kept taking her back. The parallels to our own idolatrous infidelity were apparent, as well. But what struck me was not this story in the Bible, but this woman on the cot.   She shared details of her past, including all the ways she had denied and run from God—all the tawdry details. Things I, honestly, would have kept safely behind my mask. She shared more about her background, how she had never known her father—he had left once he found out her mom was pregnant. Her mother blamed  her  for losing this man—the “love of her life.” She shared how her mother mistreated her and failed to love her well, so her grandparents raised her in Mexico. When she was twelve, her mother called for her to live with her in Topeka, KS—ripping her from the only home she had ever known. She shared how her mother still failed to love her well—leaving her desperate for love and acceptance. How she ended up pregnant as a teenager—and would have three boys by the time she was 19. How the father had left her—alone. And how, in a darkness she could not find her way out of—she had planned to end her life.   During this animated conversation, my daughter had made her way over to join us. By this time, both of us were in tears. I struggled to see why so much hurt could be allowed in one young life. My trials paled in comparison. Sitting there with my daughter, who at that time had two little boys of her own, I couldn’t help but feel thankful for the loving legacy of the family we had been blessed with. The other thing that struck me was this woman’s vulnerability. We had only just met, and she was sharing so deeply, peeling back the layers and laying it all out there for us to see. I come from a long line of mask-wearers. You didn’t air your “dirty laundry.” You put on a nice front and pretend that everything is wonderful. When people ask you how you are doing, you always say, “Fine!” or “Great!” I sometimes wonder if we feel as though true Christians shouldn’t struggle—as if admitting your life wasn’t perfect is like admitting you must not really be a Christian. But this woman was here before us, airing her “dirty laundry.” The next part of her story helped me understand why . . .   Beauty from Ashes   A coworker at the daycare she worked for always asked her to come to church with her. She had always declined, wondering how there could be a loving God if her life had been so hard. Luckily, this coworker was persistent—and God is good! He could use this, even this, for good. At the end of her rope, this young woman had decided to give this God a chance. After all, what could it hurt?   So, she accepted the invitation to go to church, and, they welcomed her with open arms. They invited her to participate in a life group, they prayed with her and for her, the pastor poured into her, and other believers began to walk with her . . . it was the beginning of her transformation. She received Christ, and she was made new!   Sitting here on a cot in a church basement, this woman shared the darkest parts of her life because only then could we really appreciate the light radiating from her as she spoke! I don’t know if I had ever met anyone who loved Jesus so much. She knew who she was and what she was before. And she knew what God had done for her—even when he knew her darkest secrets, too.   Powerful Lessons from a Humble Servant   And then there was the way she prayed! I hate to admit it, but we had a few rote prayers we would religiously say before meals and before bed—but I had never seen anyone pray with such emotion, depth, and insight. She didn’t say she would pray for me—she  prayed  for me! Grabbing my hands and praying, right out loud, with an intimacy and fervor that left me wishing I knew God that way. This woman didn’t have much in earthly wealth, but she had Jesus! And I found myself a little jealous . . . in a good way . . . in a way that left me hungry for more.   As we said our goodbyes, she asked if we could exchange phone numbers. I am ashamed to admit this, but a part of me thought she would just be asking for help with this or that. I didn’t know if it was a good idea, but I am  so  glad I said yes. It turns out the one that really needed help was me. We would start a morning prayer time that would last for years. We have both grown so much, strengthening our faith together—iron sharpening iron. Taking turns encouraging and lifting up the other as life took its twists and turns. While miles would separate us, there was a closeness that I have achieved with few others. We came from such different worlds; our skin color was different, our background was different, our families were different . . . but we both loved Jesus with all our hearts. And that’s the tie that binds.   Maybe most importantly, she has taught me the power of vulnerability. It is an admission of our inadequacy—that we are not enough without Christ. It opens the doors for true relationship. Who wants to air their “dirty laundry” with someone who looks like they have it all together? It is a testament to our surrender—that Jesus is not only our Savior but our  Lord . It reveals the dead bones behind the white-washed tomb—so that people can actually witness the new life that springs forth! So, when God gives you the opportunity to let your light shine, don’t hide it under a bushel. Be vulnerable. The light shines so brightly against the darkness.   “But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me. That is why, for Christ’s sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong.” 2 Corinthians 12:9–10 NIV   “[B]ut I see another law at work in me, waging war against the law of my mind and making me a prisoner of the law of sin at work within me. What a wretched man I am! Who will rescue me from this body that is subject to death?” Romans 7:23–24 NIV   “But God demonstrates His own love toward us, in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us.” Romans 5:8 NKJV   “Therefore confess your sins to each other and pray for each other so that you may be healed. The prayer of a righteous person is powerful and effective.” James 5:16 NIV   “And over all these virtues put on love, which binds them all together in perfect unity.” Colossians 3:14 NIV

So, it looked like it was time. Time for Chrysalis. God had brought down manna and quail so I could take the steps necessary to form Chrysalis. And I could do it without worrying about where a paycheck might come from. Without worrying about pleasing a boss or a board. Without trying to meet anyone’s expectations. Just chasing after God with all my heart. I began to dream about what it could look like, what it should look like. What kept coming to mind was, well, everything. I envisioned a home where the women could live safely in a nurturing and supportive environment. A workplace where they could have gainful employment while still being loved and encouraged. And a barn where horses could be used to help bring healing. A place to live, a place to work, a place to heal. I was meeting with people, looking into potential real estate, telling everyone who would listen about this dream of mine. It probably took at least six months to actually receive the deferred compensation from my old job in research—the one I had quit ten years earlier. My husband and I walked in faith that we had heard God right. Even as our credit card maxed out and our ready reserve that was attached to our banking account dwindled until it only had about $100 left in it (defying everything Dave Ramsey had taught us!), we walked in faith. And then it came . . . the week before everything shut down at the start of the COVID-19 pandemic. The week before the doors closed to almost all my ministry opportunities. The week before I was shoved out of everything comfortable and familiar . . . once again. It was enough to cover all the debt we had incurred with enough left over to cover the next six months. So, as we all hunkered down, wondering what the future would look like and if we would ever get to go out in public without a mask again, I continued to try to hear what God was saying and to dream about what Chrysalis might look like. A board began to come together and we filed the state incorporation papers. We had just recently filed for nonprofit status, when one of the board members mentioned a co-worker, whose wife was wondering if we might be interested in applying for a grant from the community fund at her place of work? It was no small surprise that it was the same community fund God had dropped in our laps at HorsePower as one of those first unprayed answers! Coincidence? I think not. By the time the board member asked me and we got back to this woman, she had actually gone ahead and filed on our behalf—getting information from our website, which we had just completed. She just had a couple questions. She needed a project budget and she needed proof of our nonprofit status. Darn, we had only just recently filed. It would likely be months, even up to a year before we would hear. She regretfully informed us that they would not be able to consider our application. We had to have the letter from the IRS. That weekend, I received a letter in the mail . . . from the IRS!! Chrysalis had been approved as a nonprofit . . . in less than a month ! It was almost unheard of. But somehow , we got approval just in time to be considered—and ultimately awarded—a grant that we had not known about, that we had not applied for, and that we had not even been qualified for ! Signed at the bottom . . . Love, God. To God be the glory. So, with that providential gift, we were able to begin in earnest. We decided to rent houses for some of the women God had placed in my path. The first was for a family. The second was for a mother and her grown daughter—which also served as our Chrysalis headquarters, of sorts. We were about to rent a third, for a couple, when the upper management of the rental agency we had been using seemed to catch wind of what we were doing. Turns out, they didn’t rent to “those kind of people.” My heart sank. It was one of the first of many obstacles Chrysalis would face. But the biggest obstacle was probably . . . me. In the months to follow, there were some beautiful moments, to be sure. But I was definitely wrestling with the old man in me. Paul’s word in Romans 7 about the war that wages within us—flesh vs. spirit—became truth to me. “So I find this law at work: although I want to do good, evil is right there with me. For in my inner being I delight in God’s law; but I see another law at work in me, waging war against the law of my mind and making me a prisoner of the law of sin at work within me.” Romans 7:21-23 NIV Rather than offering truth in love, I seemed to be focused on setting and attaining goals. Rather than providing encouragement, I was establishing curfews and consequences. Rather than extending grace, I was busy judging behavior. It wasn’t that they shouldn’t be following curfew and working towards goals . . . it was the way I was going about it, and what it was doing to me. I’m afraid I began climbing up to my pedestal, once again. And from there, to look down on these women God had sent me to love. What a wretched woman am I! Thank God for Jesus! “So I find this law at work: although I want to do good, evil is right there with me. For in my inner being I delight in God’s law; but I see another law at work in me, waging war against the law of my mind and making me a prisoner of the law of sin at work within me.” Romans 7:21-23 NIV “What a wretched man I am! Who will rescue me from this body that is subject to death? Thanks be to God, who delivers me through Jesus Christ our Lord!” Romans 7:24-25 NIV

I can still see her—one foot in the car, one foot out. It was such a hot day and the heat coming in battled the cool from the air conditioner. It wasn’t the only battle going on. Things had gotten heated before the door was ever opened and her instinct was . . . run! It had become clear that she had no idea how to handle conflict and time and again—in our relationship and probably every other one in her life—she just avoided conflict all together. Run. Even if it meant giving up the relationship.   But then, that’s what everyone else had done in her life. Her mother had abandoned her at the age of three. Her father had never been there. Family had brought dysfunction and abuse. Friends had stayed only as long as there was something in it for them. So, the fact that only one foot was out of the car, I considered a win.   I was proud of her really, she was staying. She was saying some of the things that were on her heart. She was fighting for this relationship. I wanted desperately for her to know that I wasn’t going anywhere. That I would stay. Even as she said things that were hurtful and, sometimes, mean-spirited, I stayed. And, honestly, I probably needed to hear some of those “hurtful” things she had to say. I thank God that he has put women in my life who have been brave enough to be honest with me. She wasn’t the only one who needed to change.   I think the comments she hurled were something like, “Oh, sure, Kaia! You’re right. You’re always right. White is right and I’m just a messed-up Indian. You make me feel like such a project. I know it makes you feel good to “help poor me” but, honestly, you just make me feel like s**t!!”   Ouch! Part of me wanted to run at that point. Just put ‘er in gear and pull away. I didn’t need to sit there and take such abuse! But . . . maybe I did. Thank God, he had been working on that whole humility thing. On that vulnerability thing. On that you’re not really perfect yourself, Kaia, thing. I stayed. I cried . . . we cried. But we laid some things on the table that really needed to be looked at.   She was right. It was true—and we have to get to a place where we can admit it. In many ways, I did consider her a project. And it did make me feel good to “help.” I thought I was better and that I could fix her. What I was coming to realize was that I  was not better, but Christ was better. That she didn’t need me or my wisdom. She needed God and his wisdom. She wasn’t my project. She was my friend. But, somehow, without realizing it, my “helping” was actually hurting.   In another conversation, same friend (we have had a few heart-to-hearts along the way!), it was my turn to vent some frustrations. I wish we could all be mature enough to discuss the hard things without the heat of emotion, but so often that is when the hard truths come to light. I don’t remember the straw that broke the camel’s back but, once again, she was calling . . . only because she needed something. It seemed like that was the only time she ever initiated in the relationship—when she needed something. I tried to show grace. I tried to show unconditional love. I tried to remember my trauma training—that because of her background she operated in survival mode. She had a lifetime’s experience of “using” people, because that was how she had made it this far. But, that day, it just sort of came out.    “You know how you said it feels like I treat you like a project? Well, some days I just feel like a pawn. Somebody you can just take advantage of. You only call when you need something. It feels like you ignore me in between. Do you even like me? Are we friends? Or am I just a taxi service and hand-out?” Even as I said it, I wished I could take it back. But then, maybe it was something that she needed to hear. Maybe, like me, she needed someone in her life who would speak truth, be honest about things. I am pretty sure we both cried again that time. I thank God for the gift of tears. It isn’t lost on me that we are the only thing in his creation that cries. But in those most vulnerable of moments, when hard truths were shared, in the tenuous balance between fight or flight . . . I think tears kept us both in the game. I think tears revealed the deep love we had for each other. That our relationship was worth fighting for. And so, we stayed. We talked though this struggle, of being project or pawn. Where did we go from here? What did we need to do? How did we move on? How did we get beyond this, now obvious, hurdle in our relationship?    We haven’t gotten it figured out yet. I wish I had more to share on that. Maybe someday, down the road. But then, maybe just seeing the hurdle is the first step. The willingness to overcome, together. To figure out how to get over it or around it, together. I think staying is the first step. Because the easy thing is to run. But the best things in life are never easy.   “If someone slaps you on one cheek, turn to them the other also. If someone takes your coat, do not withhold your shirt from them.” Luke 6:29 NIV   “Therefore I endure everything for the sake of the elect, that they too may obtain the salvation that is in Christ Jesus, with eternal glory.” 2 Timothy 2:10 NIV   “Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.” 1 Corinthians 13:4-7 NIV

These "coincidences" (not!) seemed to be happening more often. Or at least I was noticing them now. I had been part of a Bible study by Henry Blackaby called Experiencing God: Knowing and Doing the Will of God.  It had been life changing! While I had believed God was real and that the Bible was truth, I don’t think I had really expected God to show up—today . . . here and now . . . to me. I knew he worked in the lives of the people in the Bible—but that was the people of the Bible, more than 2,000 years ago. I was in complete denial that the Creator of the Universe actually had plans for me! And I had no idea how personally he would work in my life to make those plans clear . . . if he could only get my attention.   Looking back, I could see that these strange coincidences and timely promptings were like a trail of breadcrumbs that I could follow through the woods and the heavy undergrowth of this crazy world. I came to realize that if I was obedient to pick up the breadcrumb, I was blessed to see the hand of God—direction, confirmation, affirmation, provision. And I became ravenous for bread crumbs! Every day was like an adventure, mission impossible—made possible with God.   So, feeling certain that God was directing me towards apologetics and creation ministry I did meet up with that woman —from Canton, whom I had met in Kentucky. She returned the creation materials she had borrowed nearly ten years earlier and we talked a lot about where life had taken us since we first met. I shared how God had called me to HorsePower and how we had sold the farm and moved to town. It turns out that she had also felt called to leave her job as a nurse and, as she had said, they were in the process of moving, too. God had been using a time of unemployment to allow her time to meet with him, to read, to visit, to explore spiritual things. We visited easily and it seemed clear that she was led by God and seeking him. I found myself grateful for her yes to God. That she had gotten off the hamster wheel in time to be obedient to his call and to make that call to me . . . out of the blue, nearly 10 years later.    As we parted, I didn’t know if I would see her again, but a few months later I received another call . . . would I be willing to meet for another cup of coffee? I agreed and we decided to meet at a local café.   When I arrived at Laurie’s Café, she was already there, waiting at a table with a dog-eared sketch book in front of her. Our initial visiting was more stilted than last time—it seemed that both of us were eager to get to what had brought us together again. I asked her, “So, what did you bring with you?” She fingered the edges of the sketch book and said, “I will have to go back a ways to start to explain all this.” I settled in with my cup of coffee, looked like just my kind of conversation!    She started out by saying how there had been a Christian camp that had been near and dear to her heart for some time. My ears perked up when it became clear that it was the same camp I had just visited — the one I had been at when she called!  Her mother had worked there for more than 20 years and she had spent a lot of time there growing up. Apparently, a couple years earlier, about the time God nudged her out of her nursing job, she had started to envision a creation center at this same camp . What?! Was I hearing her right? I looked at this woman across from me in an Angry Birds hat with tinsel pom poms, and hot pink and black striped, fingerless gloves, red lipstick slightly askew. I left my heart open to hear her words and let her share what God had put on her heart. She went on to show me the sketch book. It was filled with sketches and pictures and notes about what this creation center might look like. She shared that she felt certain that God had plans for that place. That he had ‘destined’ that it would be an amazing place of spiritual influence and outreach. Reminding myself that she had no idea that I had just been there, touring the lodges she showed in the pictures, I sat quietly and let her finish.    She said once again how this camp had meant so much to her—and that things were changing. Her mother no longer worked there, the Program Director had left, and now (wait for it . . .) it appeared the Executive Director position was open! She had seen it in the paper and she had made a copy of it. She had been praying over the open position, for God to bring just the right person and then . . . she said, “I can tell you where I was sitting and everything about that moment.  It just popped into my head . . . Kaia.” She showed me the cut-out photocopy of the job posting—with my name written across it in pink highlighter.   I was nearly crying by then. I said, “Now you need to know the rest of that story . . .” I proceeded to tell her how I had gotten a call from the director the day my resignation from HorsePower had gone public.  How I had gone to visit with him about the horse camp, and he had ended up saying perhaps I should be praying about the Executive Director position that might be opening up sometime in the future. And then I told her how I had left there so confused, praying to God to tell me what this all meant. And that that was when I had received her call—as I drove away from the camp. She had my creation materials and she thought I might be needing them. Wow! The tears just started to roll down my cheeks, right there in Laurie’s Café.     Was God really doing something big at this camp? Could he possibly be combining both the creation and the horse ministry that he had asked me to do? Was he really weaving together all the pieces of my life and could this possibly be one of the works he had prepared in advance… for me ?! The words out of my mouth were, “But I don’t want this job!” And then, not too much later, I said sheepishly, “I guess Moses said that, too, right?” I looked at her, sitting across from me in her Angry Birds hat and striped gloves. She was a bit like my own John the Baptist, who in his camel hair clothes and wild hair and locust diet announced God’s plan and prepared the way. God had laid the opening before me once already and I had said, “No, thanks." Whether out of confusion, disbelief, rebellion, or whatever, I had said no. It looked like he was asking me again . . . and I was pretty sure I couldn’t say no. I looked at the application deadline. It was the first day after my last day at HorsePower.   After our time at Laurie’s, I just had to drive out to the camp. It was only about six miles from my house! I pulled into the long, curving driveway and parked at the base of the hills. My eyes were drawn immediately to an eagle, gracefully soaring over a valley. Somehow, I felt a sense of peace as I remembered bits of a Bible verse about soaring on the wings of eagles. My eyes turned to the west and I saw the three crosses on the hillside. I couldn’t help but think that Jesus had not wanted his assignment either, but he had prayed, “Thy will be done.” I felt a resolve in my soul that I would try to be obedient to God’s calling—no matter what it looked like, whether it looked like what I thought it should look like or not. Thy will be done.   My husband and I were up late, visiting about what God seemed to be so plainly revealing to me.  It was a great conversation and my husband was so supportive and so open to God’s will—I think he may have been glad it wasn’t a call to Syria or Africa!   “Whoever has my commands and keeps them is the one who loves me. The one who loves me will be loved by my Father, and I too will love them and show myself to them.”” John 14:21 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   “Jesus looked at them and said, “With man this is impossible, but with God all things are possible.”” Matthew 19:26 NIV   “But Moses said, “Pardon your servant, Lord. Please send someone else.”” Exodus 4:13 NIV   “Father, if you are willing, take this cup from me; yet not my will, but yours be done.” Luke 22:42 NIV

The woman was wearing more than one shirt—way more than one shirt! I could see the different neck lines and multiple shirttails poking out from under the jean jacket she had managed to squeeze over top of all of them. In fact, she had on so many layers, and the denim was stretched so tight, she couldn’t even bend her arms! She looked like a slightly more stylish, adult version of the little brother   in A Christmas Story as he bumbled down the sidewalk in his puffy snowsuit crying, “I can’t put my arms down!” It made me chuckle and it made me curious . . .  what in the world?! But then I realized, she was in distress. And she wasn’t alone. Behind her there were others, so many others. Unable to bend their arms, they were not able to feed themselves. They were not able to hold their babies. They were dying . . .    As I awoke at 2:30 in the morning, shaking the fog of sleep from my brain, I was thinking, “What a strange dream! Why were they wearing so many shirts?!” It didn’t take long for the main message to become clear—the clothing was the welfare system. In an attempt to be generous and kind, we give them one free thing after the other: food stamps, diapers, clothing, housing, medical care . . .  the list goes on. They wear welfare like the layered shirts, each given with good intentions, yet crippling them in the end.    Layer after layer of “welfare” immobilizes them to the point they are completely dependent on others. In the end we rob them of their work ethic, the satisfaction of a job well done, the pride of providing for their families . . .  their dignity. The family is broken—fathers walk away in shame disguised as wild living; children are removed from parental custody to protect them from those who were to be their protectors. God designed us to work, to be productive and fruitful—even before the Fall in the Garden of Eden. Squelching that in the human spirit inevitably leads to loss of a sense of self-worth, which leads to depression, which leads to hopelessness, which—far too often—leads to self-medication, numbing the intolerable pain and hopelessness with drink or drugs. Like falling dominoes, the welfare system can unwittingly initiate the cascade from poverty to all-consuming addiction.   We give them so much free stuff they forget how to work— they are not able to feed themselves. Welfare cripples to the point they lose their children— they are not able to hold their babies.  Lack of purpose and self worth sends them spiraling into addiction— they are dying.   Wayward Welfare   I couldn’t get the image out of my mind. So, I lay there, tossing and turning for the next three or four hours, wrestling with the dilemma of a broken system and how best to help. The bible is so clear, after all: we are to help the poor and the needy, to help the widows and the orphans! All of these programs—government led or Christian ministries—were designed to help these vulnerable populations. So, where had we gone so wrong? Why doesn’t welfare work?    I thought again of the layers of shirts, each one given with such good intentions. But, think about it, if someone gave “a shirt” to a person “in need,” it would be a nice thing. But if it is done through anonymous transactions, they don’t realize that someone else has already given them “a shirt.” They don’t know if that person is really “in need,” maybe they could get their own shirt. The system is abused, intentionally or not, and little by little the layers are added and, ultimately, they can’t bend their arms! Crippling kindness.    It seemed logical that we simply strip them of all those layers in order to free them. Remove welfare! But then, those muscles that had gone unused—in many cases, for generations—were weak and atrophied. Their work muscles and their parenting muscles would need to be strengthened before they could effectively use them. It was funny because, as I lay there pondering all these things, I recalled a random conversation from the day before. My grown son had been tubing behind the boat with our grandsons and, apparently, they were pretty impressed with his grip strength. How could he hang on so tightly as the tube careened out of control behind the boat?! His answer was that he had an adjustable hand grip exerciser—a tool that allowed him to work on his grip strength as he watched TV or whatever. When the task got easier, he could make an adjustment on the tool that made it harder, gradually increasing his grip strength over time. Similarly, there would need to be a means to gradually increase those work muscles and those parenting muscles . . .    And I think that’s where we might come in, as Christians.  One thing that had become increasingly clear to me along my journey was that we—as the church, as the body, as the hands and feet of Christ—have left our post. We have relegated the care of orphans and widows, the most vulnerable in our community, to the government or to nonprofits and Christian ministries. When we see someone in need, we justify looking the other way because, after all, we have paid our taxes—there’s a welfare program for that! We pride ourselves in the fact that we have donated to this cause or that organization. We can wash our hands of their plight and go on our merry way with a clean conscience. At times, in self-righteous ignorance, we can even swing to the other side of the pendulum, justifying that they deserve the harvest their idle hands and their wild, reckless living have sown . . . and do nothing. In reality, these are both easy outs that don’t solve the problem. I’m afraid ministry is messy, and we are as good at finding ways to preserve our comfortable lives along with our conscience as they are at finding hand-outs.    Help That Helps   As Christians, we are called to love our neighbor—and that includes the poor, the widow and the orphan. But it looks different than programmatic, transactional welfare. These people do need food and shelter, to be sure. But perhaps even more so, they need loving relationships. They need unconditional, even undeserved love. God’s form of welfare looks more like a meal . . . shared around a table, like a bed . . . in a guest room. More challenging, for sure! I can relate to the easy out of writing a check to a food bank or local shelter. As it turns out, our hospitality and generosity muscles are as weak as their work and parenting muscles. Looks like we all need to go to the gym! Or perhaps, back to the bible . . .       As we begin to flex those generosity and hospitality muscles, it’s important to remember that God’s form of kindness and generosity doesn’t always look like one might expect. It might not even look kind or generous! There needs to be discernment on how to help and when to give. Help doesn’t always come in the form of money—it may be sharing wisdom or taking time to teach. Help doesn’t even always come in the form of help. Sometimes, allowing them to struggle through challenging times—even as we love them and encourage them—allows them to work those muscles and make them stronger. It allows them to realize they can do it!    Rolling over in bed, again, as my husband continued his snoring beside me, another memory bubbled to the surface. (It always amazes me how God can weave what seem to be just normal, everyday conversations into his lesson plans for me!) As we had spent time together over the Labor Day weekend, my son-in-law shared a story about something he had posted on the internet. He had shared a video of our youngest grandson struggling to climb up onto Pancho, their big ranch horse.  With some resourcefulness, impressive upper body strength, and sheer determination, he managed to climb aboard.  Sitting tall in the saddle, he looked proud as a peacock about it, too.  However, his expression changed quickly when his dad pointed out that he had forgotten to untie the horse!  He would have to get down and do it all over again . . .    Apparently, there were literally hundreds of comments on the post that berated my son-in-law for not helping my little grandson get on the horse.  They were especially aghast that he had not bailed him out and untied the horse for him.  I fear it is indicative of our culture, in many ways, and our approach to welfare, for sure.  You see, my son-in-law wasn’t being mean…he was cultivating character.  My grandson was learning resourcefulness and ingenuity, building strength, learning to overcome challenges, to persevere.  He was allowed to experience the pride of accomplishment . . . and to suffer the consequences of poor planning.  I bet he remembered to untie the horse the next time he went to get on!   Now, if my grandson had been smaller or weaker, he may have needed  some help getting on, and his daddy would have been more than willing to provide it.  But my son-in-law knows his son and knew he could do it if he put his mind to it.  Maybe if we form relationships with our neighbors that struggle (even if the “neighbor” lives in a different neighborhood on the other side of town), we would begin to know them.  Know them well enough to know when they need a little boost into the saddle or when they just need someone to believe in them and give them a little encouragement.  Because I have seen firsthand what the welfare system does to the human spirit, and I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.  I would love to love them in a way that allowed them to ultimately sit proudly in the saddle, reveling in their accomplishment and ready to take on the next challenge—even if it meant suffering the consequences of some of their choices.    The Generous Generation   The welfare system is entrenched in our culture, and I’m afraid we may not be able to simply strip it away.  There are those who have become so reliant on it that to do so would leave them weak and vulnerable.  So, what is the answer?  I’m sure there is no simple solution, but I have come to envision what I call the Generous Generation.  We will need Christians who are ready to help in a way that helps .  To be willing to give—even as they are already giving in the form of taxes or donations, even if it is “undeserved”—in order to give folks who are trying to learn how to be independent a little boost into the saddle.  To be willing to say no once they become strong enough to do it on their own—even if it looks like a mighty struggle.  To offer wisdom and to take time to teach—when writing a check would be so much easier.  To love their children with  them, showing them a better way of parenting—rather than simply doing it for them.  To know them well enough to know what will actually help—empower rather than enable.  May God grant us wisdom and discernment as we exercise our own underdeveloped generosity and hospitality muscles!  We all have a lot of work to do as we take the reins back from the government on this issue of “welfare.”  But, as a horse lover speaking from experience, I hope we all can get in that saddle and begin to run, feeling the wind on our face and the power beneath us.  What an exhilarating ride!    I hope that one day, I have a sequel to this strange dream—and that this one actually comes true . . .    I dream of a day where all those extra shirts have been stripped away and those currently in bondage have been set free—they are once again feeding themselves, and holding their babies.  A dream where they are not only living , but living the abundant life offered through Jesus Christ.  I pray we can choose the messy, hard work of ministry—making disciples of all nations and teaching them to obey all God’s commandments—rather than settling for crippling kindness.   “John answered, 'Anyone who has two shirts should share with the one who has none, and anyone who has food should do the same.'” Luke 3:11 NIV   “For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me.’   Then the righteous will answer him, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink? When did we see you a stranger and invite you in, or needing clothes and clothe you? When did we see you sick or in prison and go to visit you?’   The King will reply, ‘Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.’” Matthew 25:35-40 NIV   “And we urge you, brothers and sisters, warn those who are idle and disruptive, encourage the disheartened, help the weak, be patient with everyone.” 1 Thessalonians 5:14 NIV   “For even when we were with you, we gave you this rule: “The one who is unwilling to work shall not eat.”” 2 Thessalonians 3:10 NIV   “Anyone who has been stealing must steal no longer, but must work, doing something useful with their own hands, that they may have something to share with those in need.” Ephesians 4:28 NIV   “Is not this the kind of fasting I have chosen: to loose the chains of injustice and untie the cords of the yoke, to set the oppressed free and break every yoke? Is it not to share your food with the hungry and to provide the poor wanderer with shelter—when you see the naked, to clothe them, and not to turn away from your own flesh and blood? Then your light will break forth like the dawn, and your healing will quickly appear; then your righteousness will go before you, and the glory of the Lord will be your rear guard.” Isaiah 58:6-8 NIV

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

I’ve never worked at a fire station—or even really seen the inside of one. The closest I've come was the time we got a tour of the garage of our hometown fire station. We got to see the trucks. They fed us hot dogs and chips. My grandsons even got to ride around the block in a fire truck and received complimentary red plastic fireman helmets and an official-looking sticker badge. Yet, somehow, I feel like I know all about the inner workings of a fire station. Admittedly, my knowledge is based solely on books and movies, but I can just picture the guys hanging out, cooking meals, eating together, sleeping on bunks or cots and then the bell goes off and down the pole they go, ready to run to the rescue of those whose lives are in danger! Surely, they must have some classroom time where they learn how to fight fires and rescue babies from eighth floor apartments. They must do simulations where they practice hooking up the hoses and running the ladders. I bet they learn all about the protective gear and how to properly wear each piece—protecting themselves so they can protect others. And then, when they get the call, they are all ready. They can respond to the call and save lives.    I was thinking . . . what if they got so busy training that they missed the call? Or so distracted cooking meals and playing cards that they didn’t notice the fire was actually fast-approaching the station itself? Or, worse yet, so comfortable that they chose not to respond to the call at all . . . at least they were safe . . . maybe the fire wouldn’t reach the station . . .   And then I got to thinking . . . isn’t that a lot like too many of our churches?   The fire is raging! The flames are practically licking at the doors of the churches. Some churches have been consumed. And yet, too many of us remain within its walls—serving one more potluck, doing one more Bible study, practicing our evangelistic strategy one more time. We spend so much time planning social events (which benefit our own) and doing Bible studies (when convenient) that bring us comfort (yet rarely convict), that we fail to hear the call or look out the window to see a raging fire all around us. A fire that is consuming our culture, our country . . . our children. We don’t even see the poverty, abuse, and addiction that is rampant in our very own communities. We conveniently position our homes and choose our churches so that we can drive to the “fire station” without ever noticing the fires. We feel so good about the fact that we are training to be firemen that we fail to see that we have yet to ever jump out of a comfy bed, slide down that pole, and go out there and use our training to save lives! Because that is what is at stake here. Lives. Not just physical lives, but immortal souls.    What will it take to make us willing to make personal sacrifices? To take great risks? I think, at some point, we have to stop training and go do the job. We have been forewarned that we will have to give up comforts—even relationships—and make great sacrifices. The Bible talks of many who, once they realized the great risks, turned back and quit following Jesus. I think we have to take some pretty serious moral inventory—is our fireman’s helmet and badge the real thing? Or simply cheap plastic and paper? We need firemen. Not imposters. The world is burning up.   “Do not merely listen to the word, and so deceive yourselves. Do what it says.” James 1:22 NIV   “The teachers of the law and the Pharisees sit in Moses’ seat. So you must be careful to do everything they tell you. But do not do what they do, for they do not practice what they preach.”  Matthew 23:2-3 NIV   “What do you think? There was a man who had two sons. He went to the first and said, ‘Son, go and work today in the vineyard.’ ‘I will not,’ he answered, but later he changed his mind and went. Then the father went to the other son and said the same thing. He answered, ‘I will, sir,' but he did not go. Which of the two did what his father wanted? “The first,” they answered.” Matthew 21:28-31a NIV    “On hearing it, many of his disciples said, “This is a hard teaching. Who can accept it?”” … “ From this time many of his disciples turned back and no longer followed him.” John 6:60,66 NIV