So, in a fantastic twist of God sized proportions, I am tasked with co- “teaching” at a ladies retreat for High Point Fellowship (September 23-25, slots still available.).  I appropriately put quotation marks on teaching because I really think we are less “teaching” and more “facilitating action with lots of words to start the action”.  It’s going to be pretty awesome.

Our topic for the weekend is Testimony: finding yours and telling it.  I know what you’re thinking, because that is exactly what I was thinking, “This sounds complicated, Amy.  Testimony is a big fancy churchy word and one short weekend isn’t enough time for me to tell you about that one time when I was eight and how meeting that penguin led to me Christ.”

Hold on, a penguin led you to Christ?  That sounds fascinating!  Could you find a way to make that story less than two minutes long and ready to go at the drop of a hat should you encounter someone who needs to hear it on, say, a train or an elevator?  Because that’s what this retreat is all about: getting to the heart of your story and the Truth that set you free.

This idea came to us months ago and it really didn’t make a whole lot of sense, frankly.  Doesn’t everybody know their own testimony(ies)?  As we mucked our way through it, Kathy Tope (my co-”teacher”) and I prayed for real life opportunities to share our testimonies so that we could actually teach with a touch of authority on the subject.

Here is what we learned, and the whole reason for this post (There’s a reason for this post!? I’m just as shocked as you are.): If you ask God to send people to you, they will come.

I was shocked at the opportunities I had and saddened that I hadn’t asked for any such opportunities before.  How it all went down is a whole other post that I will probably never write, but you should know that there are people all around you who are walking around with no Bible, no God, no hope and a huge smile to keep you from suspecting any of that.  Pray that God shows them to you and then tell them all about that one time when you met that penguin.  It just might (probably will) change their whole life.

I am sitting in the middle of a great heartache.  It’s not one that makes for good blogging, but for the sake of sharing these thoughts, you must know that my heart is in a very sad, dark and lonely place.

So, me and my pathetic self decided to take a stroll to the far end of my parents’ property in central Texas to sit awhile and enjoy the sounds of God’s great land.

God’s great land has been tortured by this long drought.

My feet crunched on the dry grass which has withered to patches of yellow fire hazards as I walked.  A smattering of deer watched me with wary eyes, concerned that I may stop them from feasting on one odd piece of bush that maintained a smidge of green.  The earth in front of me was naked – stripped of its grass cloaks and laid bare to expose deep cracks where the parched land burst for want of water.

I sat down in a spot with a lacey veil of shade and looked up at the two hundred year old oak tree, trying to recall some passage of hope, some promise, some anything from my Father that would make my ache an easier burden to bear.

I saw a small bird some twenty feet up, pounding his little beak against the old oak tree’s branches to try and startle up a bug.  ”No water means no bugs,” I thought and considered for a moment the futility of the little bird’s plight.

I thought about all the prayer meetings and desperate calls to God for rain.  I thought of my own heartache and my deep longing to have it repaired.  My lips parted to join the chorus of millions and ask for rain, but then I was stilled.  I watched my little bird friend and knew in that instant that God was fully aware that this bird was hunting for bugs that weren’t there.  I knew in that instant that God knew my deep grief.

Somehow, just knowing that He knows, made all the difference.  He is aware.  He is not elsewhere – too busy to attend.  He knows.  He is sad for our condition and He knows better than we do just how low a state we are in.  He knows.

I stood up from my seat, still burdened, yet forever changed.  I will see an end to this grief.  My beautiful Texas will see rain.  God has a plan.  He knows what He is doing and He is always right.  I can trust Him in all things.

What follows is a post I wrote about the most profound gift I received from God in that first dark February in 2004.  I was born going to church and faith was always around me, but it was that February that I finally shut up long enough to listen.  I am reposting this because so much of this February seems to be hearkening back to that first one seven years ago.

Reality Check

After my younger brother died suddenly in 2003, I spent about two months in a cocoon like seclusion. Eric kept the coffee pot going and took care of the kids while I huddled over a space heater in our garage and watched religious television on a tiny black and white set. I spent hours hollowly watching preacher after preacher, and I realize now that I was searching and waiting for someone to make sense of why I had been so gutted.

Why was my brother dead while other jerks were walking around with their jerk brothers? At the same time, my body began to slip a little deeper into M.S. deterioration and I was feeling like the chains of this fallen land’s darkness were tightening around my wrists and ankles by the second. I was completely bound by the reality of living here and the depression of that fact was more than I could withstand.

It was during this time of desperate searching for relief that I read John’s account of Jesus’ return from the dead.
¹⁹On the evening of that first day of the week, when the disciples were together, with the doors locked for fear of the Jews, Jesus came and stood among them and said, “Peace be with you!” ²⁰After he said this, he showed them his hands and side. The disciples were overjoyed when they saw the Lord.

Did you see what I saw? The door was locked and suddenly Jesus was among them. He was real flesh – they touched him – and yet he was able to appear through the wall. Why would he do that? Why appear through the wall? Why not knock on the door? Why be so deliberate about suddenly appearing among them? As I read those words way back in my cocoon, I heard Jesus tell me, “The wall is not real. I am real.”

“Your brother’s death is not reality. I am reality.”

“Your failing health is not reality. I am reality.”

THIS WALL IS NOT REAL.

It was almost deafening; this voice telling me what reality is. It was a notion that gave me such peace that I stood from my spot, and slowly began to live and breathe again. I was firmly rooted in reality for the first time in my nearly 27 years of life.

Just in case you take me very seriously and give much weight to my every word: I am a student of this topic and, while I speak as one with authority, you should do your own research and draw your own conclusions.  I only speak with presumed authority because this is my blog and I’m the boss.

In my search for information about the physical aspect of fasting I came across many sources that happily married ancient false god worship of the new age movement with Christianity.  Be very wary of everything you read on this topic because the majority that I’ve found is offensive to Truth.  (Fair warning: “Christian book store” does not always equal “Christian book.”)

The longest fast I’ve done is a six day fast.  During that time I drank only water and the occasional herbal tea to settle my stomach.   I was quite scared of such a fast when I felt called to it because my previous standard of 29-36 hours was grueling and the hunger pangs were almost unbearable.

What I learned is that the foggy brain, stomach pain, headache, and other unpleasant symptoms are not actually symptoms of my body collapsing in on itself with hunger, but rather it is my body detoxing.  When the body starts to feast on its own fat stores, it starts with the weak, diseased, and unhealthy cells first.  This is uncomfortable, to say the least.  It is highly suggested that one eats a majority raw food diet in the days leading up to a fast to help ease the symptoms.  I personally ate three handfuls of peanut M&Ms before my fast began.  This may or may not have complicated my detox period.  I love M&Ms, so I’ll take the hit.

By day three I was over the headache (I was able to take an aspirin with little discomfort when it got unbearable) and I was starting to come out of the brain fog and into the slow and deliberate thinking process that I described in a previous post.  I spent the first two days either in bed, on the sofa, in the corner huddled by a space heater, or at the kitchen table staring blankly at a wall.  On the third day I got dressed up, put on my make-up and ran some errands.  Day three was much better.

Day four will be discussed in the next post as it bore one of two very profound moments of my fast.  What I will say here is that it is only because I was so empty of racing thoughts, hyper activity, and upside down priorities that I was able to have such moments.

Day six of my fast was a Sunday and I broke my fast with communion.  I did not intend that my fast would be broken in that way.  I had actually intended that it would be a seven day fast, though I did make the deliberate decision to take the cup and the bread with my church family.  It was one of the more profound communions of my walk and I will discuss it later.  Right now I want to simply make the point that even the tiniest crumb of bread can fully wake up and engage your digestive system.  By the end of worship services I knew that my fast was complete and that it was time to come down from my mountain top.  I felt a strong conviction that if I forced myself to make a full seven days it would be because of my competitive spirit, not because of God’s calling on my life.

If you feel called out to do a fast and you would like to know more about my experience, I welcome any questions.  It is because of others before me that I was able to have this awesome experience and I will happily pay it forward to share with anyone who wants to know more.

The first independent fast I ever did was two years ago and it honestly amounted to a hunger strike.  I wrote out a prayer of petition and then spent the next 29 hours consuming nothing but water and praying that prayer.  I was certain that God would take me more seriously since I was so very hungry.

Write this down:  God does not respond to hunger strikes.

There are many reasons to fast and we have examples of all in scripture, but the primary motive seems to be to get in line with God’s will, not to bend God’s will.  One of the best things I learned from a faster before me is that fasting is not our gift to God, but rather His gift to us.

I think that the gifts of fasting are unique to the faster.  God knows you.  He knows your heart.  And He knows that what you need is wildly different from what I need.  I have received such abundance from fasting that I could not begin to easily share in a simple blog format, but I would like to share in this post the one gift that I believe is likely universal and shared by most.

After one day of fasting, I found that my brain was in a fog and thinking was tricky.  After three days, I found that quick thinking was not an option and answers had to be well thought out, even to the easy questions.  I assumed that this meant that my thinking was hampered, but by day four I realized that my thinking was actually deeper, more profound, and more productive than usual.  My thoughts were barred from racing and each thought was given laborious time to be considered to its fullest.

I had a very hard time focusing on reading scripture and instead spent many hours just being still.  Things which were once screaming priorities became simple background noise and all that was on my plate was stillness.  It is a stillness that I can’t describe and know that I won’t recapture outside of a fast from food.

Fasting is not about getting my way with God.  It is not about proving my seriousness or righteousness to God.  It is about slowing down, shutting up, and being still.  This was a big lesson for me to learn.

I received an unexpected gift on day four of my six day fast and I want to share that with you in its own post.  Before I do that, I want to discuss some of the biology of fasting and what happens on the cellular level because it was knowing what was happening to my body that emboldened me to press on with what was, for me, an extreme fast.  That will be the next post.  Please share your own experiences with fasting in the comments.  I would love to know about others’ journeys.

Let’s talk about fasting, shall we?  For years the word alone would make me shudder like the thought of running a marathon could.   My understanding of scripture is such that I never believed that fasting is necessary for salvation, just as running a marathon is not necessary to be called a “runner”; though both experiences can give deeper and more targeted direction to action.

My personal journey in this area is multi-faceted and I believe it will take more than one post to cover my thoughts, so let this post be an introduction to our discussion about the very beautiful, often neglected or distorted, gift that God has given us in fasting.

I can’t introduce this topic among Christians without first tackling Matthew 6:16-18 “When you fast, do not look somber as the hypocrites do, for they disfigure their faces to show others they are fasting. Truly I tell you, they have received their reward in full. But when you fast, put oil on your head and wash your face, so that it will not be obvious to others that you are fasting, but only to your Father, who is unseen; and your Father, who sees what is done in secret, will reward you.”

I think this scripture has put many a muzzle on a faster so that even the benefits and joy of fasting are not discussed to avoid the dangerous possibility of being like the hypocrites who only fasted for the glory of themselves.  I have learned much from people who fast and are willing to share their experiences with me. Were they to sit quietly, I would still be stuck feeling like fasting was a marathon intended only for the very pious and serious spiritual giants of the faith and not for me.

I hope we can agree that this is a necessary discussion and that my efforts here are to benefit and embolden God’s Kingdom.  Everybody ready?  Get your swim caps on and let’s jump in.

A Fast By Any Other Name…

The first point about fasting that I would like to make, and the only one I’ll be touching on today, is this: there are many things we can abstain from for spiritual growth, but when fasting is mentioned in scripture it is always a fast from food.  Our examples are many and I will let you do your own study, but wrap your head firmly around the idea that fasting from food is what is meant when you see fasting mentioned in the Bible.

I mentioned in a previous post that I have shut down Facebook for this month to free up the mountains of time I wile away there.  Some of you may also have such a past time that you feel called to set aside from time to time.  I feel that this can be a God led time and that such a fast is good for the mind and spirit.  Both fasting from food and distraction are not our gift to God, but rather His gift to us as we make ourselves more available to His Word, His pruning, and His touch.

I don’t want to get too caught up on this point, but I need to be clear that when I say “fasting” in future posts I mean from food.  If the notion of such a thing is as daunting and scary to you as it once was to me, please join me in the next few posts as I discuss what has become the single most life changing element of my walk with Christ next to Scripture.

3:00am, February 1, 2011.  A wicked winter storm is brewing and it startles me awake.  I lay there, excited to see how February is going to roll in.  I listen to the wind howl and think about the plans I have for the month.

Suddenly, I hear the crash of something hitting the roof just above my head.  I spring out of bed and quickly throw on Eric’s jacket and my boots before trudging outside to investigate.  The night is quite cold and the wind is fierce.  I see a harmless branch is the culprit and take a quick walk around the property to see if all is buttoned up for the storm.

As I walk, I marvel at the bright pink glow of the night sky.  I can see every step clearly ahead of me and I have no fears or concerns about what I may encounter.

I return to my warm bed and thank God for getting me up for this quiet moment in the midst of a storm that would begin our month.  Welcome February!  I look forward to this month with such eagerness that Christmas morning pales in comparison.

Coming soon: Fasting, feasting, and being still.

I was baptized into Christ on February 17, 1988.  My first thought on coming up out of that water was something along the lines of, “Now all I have to do is avoid all sin for the rest of my life and I will be set.”  My second thought was, “I bet Grandpa buys me a nice lunch after this.”  I was wrong on the first thought, but right about the second.

Flash forward to early February 2004 and that date in 1988 is but a hazy childhood memory.  That February I was completely broken.  My much loved baby brother had just been killed in a car accident, my husband lost his job, multiple sclerosis was slapping me around, and I had two toddlers who thought I had my act together.  I was drowning and it occurred to me that maybe I should get re-baptized because perhaps the first one didn’t take.  I became consumed with that idea and started shopping it around to friends and family to get their thoughts.  Most were very supportive, but I suspect it was because they were scared of my obviously fragile state and didn’t want to poke the crazy.  I told my dear Grandmother and she said something that stopped me dead in my tracks, “You know, Amy, I got baptized when I was ten years old and I never looked back.”

I marveled at the notion of “never looking back.”  I started to really consider what a re-baptism meant for me and knew that it was not the answer.  I called the church in Odessa,TX where I was baptized and asked them for for my baptism records.  The man who answered the phone actually remembered me and happily found the date for me.  I wrote it down in a notebook and vowed to spend some time looking back so I could move forward.

I wrote out a prayer in which I compared my baptism to a hasty wedding.  It was poorly planned, not well thought out and there was very little pre-marital counseling (not my parents fault as there is not much that can be said to a ten year old).  In spite of the details, it was a wedding all the same.  Vows were made and a marriage was to follow.  I could go back and renew my vows with all the planning I wanted to, but that wouldn’t make those first vows any less real and standing.  My wedding to Christ may not have been TLC worthy, but it was still precious and binding.

I got the info about my baptism date a few weeks before the 16th anniversary.  I marked that February with a fast from Dr Pepper and the goal of memorizing a chapter of scripture.  The Dr Pepper fast held, but I did not succeed in my memorization goals.

Since then, I have planned something for every February.  It seems as though every year since that first dark February in 2004 I have been drawn into deeper and more challenging water with each anniversary.  This year is no exception.  I may blog about what I feel called to do for this anniversary, but I won’t know for certain until I am on the other side.  I am feeling nervous and excited as I stand on the shore of this great swim because this will be a big challenge beyond anything I’ve ever done willingly.

To make this month quieter, I will be shutting down Facebook.  I don’t watch television, I don’t play computer games, I don’t Farmville.  I Facebook.  That is my vice and my go to when I don’t want to do the hard things.  With no Facebook, I will have no choice but to tuck my hair neatly under my swim cap and dive in.  If I learn anything of great value along the way, I’ll gladly share it with you here.  If you only follow me on Facebook, I’ll see you in March!

One thought that I have grown to love about Jonah is that it is an unquestionable example in the Old Testament of God seeking out the non-Jewish nations.  In my youth, I assumed that the Old Testament was strictly about God and the Jews and the New Testament was strictly about Jesus and the Christians.   In Jonah, the Old Testament, we see God interested in the saving of people who did not belong to the Hebrew nation.  They were not “chosen”, and yet they were. That’s pretty cool.

So, here we have Jonah: a prophet of God living among the Jewish nation.  The people around him look like he does, they talk like he does, and they believe like he does.  I imagine that he is comfortable with his life and work.  And then, God calls him out and tells him to go to Ninevah.

According to God, the problem with Ninevah was that their “wickedness has come up before Me”.  A study of history will tell you that Ninevah was at the center of all things wicked.  They were daily sacrificing children to their gods and goddesses.  There was a sexual element to their worship that likely meant that there was a good number of unwanted pregnancies, making sacrifice an easy and pious option for mending such a problem.   Ninevah was the capital of Assyria and the Assyrian armies made regular marches across the land and there were commonly known phrases that referenced the fear that would grip a mother’s heart when she heard the sound of pounding Assryian footsteps at the gates of their cities.

In short: Assyria was a terrifying place to visit and Ninevah was at the very heart of Assyria.

It is easy to assume that it was fear of Ninevah that led to Jonah’s decision to flee from the presence of the LORD, but that is not what Jonah says in chapter four.  Chapter four comes after Jonah has been swallowed by the fish, stewed in the fish’ belly for three days, vomited up by the fish and has made good on his promise to do as God commanded.   He told Ninevah that they were forty days away from being destroyed and Ninevah responds by fasting, putting on sackcloth and pleading with God for mercy.  And God has mercy.

The response of mercy is exactly what Jonah knew he’d see and didn’t want to see.  He wanted to see Ninevah destroyed and instead God had mercy.  He tells God, “…is this not what I said while I was still in my own country?  This is why I was so quick to flee to Tarshish.  For I know that You are a gracious and compassionate God… a God who relents from sending calamity.”

Jonah didn’t want to go to Ninevah because he didn’t want to see God have mercy on such a disgusting and repugnant people.

This is where I can relate to Jonah and where I don’t like what I see.  How easy it is to sit in my comfortable land among people who look and talk like me and speak great punishment on those who “don’t know their right hand from their left” as God said about Ninevah.

My mercy is as great as Jonah’s.  I cannot recite his words without hearing my own whiny voice raging in my head.   The mystery of it all is that a merciful and gracious God would still use one like Jonah.  And one like me.

On Christmas Eve I sat on the sofa and watched Ian play an airplane game on the Wii and his effort was cracking me up.  He was flying that plane like he was three sheets to the wind and missing limbs.  He rolled, he dove, he crashed many times and he laughed like a maniac the whole time.  While he played, Mackenzie sat beside me and kept saying, “Just wait until you see me do it, Mom.  I am soooo much better at flying than Ian is.”

Ian finished his game with a score of 10 points, which is great because you get one point for every target you reach.  10 is pretty good.  Kenzie played next, and true to her word, she was a masterful pilot.  She soared with ease between buildings, she skimmed the waters, and she peacefully ignored reaching any target point because, “it was just too dangerous.”  She ended her run with a serene face and 0 points.

This little demonstration in the living room got me to thinking about the spiritual walks I see all around me.  I LOVE the people who walk with God the way Ian flew that plane: crazy, laughing, seemingly without goals, and still meeting most every target set before him.  Those people take the most heat and criticism for their walk because their crashes and mistakes seem bigger and easier to critique from the sofa.  The people who never crash and have safe, serene walks that seem uninterrupted by dirty hands and big crazy leaps of faith may end their lives with serene face and clean fingernails, but that’s not how I want to end my run.

Risking hurt feelings with Truth is messy work.  It is much easier to soar peacefully around the Truth and stay clean.  I’ve had some nasty crashes on this course, but I’ve also hit a lot of targets for my effort.  Seeing this analogy has gotten me to think even more clearly about the “poor pilots” around me who are actually flying aces and the “quality pilots” around me who are pointless.

Don’t end your run clean and pointless.  Be an ace pilot and get some dirt under your nails.