Women’s Ministries

Stretched to the Limit August 20, 2011

Have you ever had one of those days?  Or one of those weeks?  Or even a season, when nothing seems to go as you planned and your pushed to your limit?    It’s a day when you’re trying to be early to work and prepare for your class or your presentation and you spill coffee on the outfit you picked out just for that day, then you get to work and the copier is jammed, or there’s a line to use it and now you’re running late.  Or maybe it was that you day you had your whole day planned out with the kids.  You had everything packed and ready the night before, everyone got up on time and you were even in the car ahead of schedule, then your child found a mud puddle when you weren’t looking, or blows out her diaper just as you arrive at your destination and the extra clothes you thought were in the diaper bag are actually in the laundry room because you had another emergency two days earlier.

This last week has been one of those weeks for me.  My youngest had the flu.  Laundry, laundry, laundry.  My oldest had his two-year check-up so I took them both with me, thinking the doctor could take a look at the younger one while we were there since he’d had diarrhea and vomiting for almost four days.  I thought about recruiting some help for the appointment but then–against my better judgment–thought, No, I handle both of them on my own all the time.  This should be easy.  BIG mistake.  Just after we get settled in the exam room and both stripped down to their diapers, the nurse comes in and both boys go into Complete Meltdown Mode.  I don’t know if they conspired ahead of time or what, but there was no consoling either.  Tyson, 9 months, was overdue for a nap and understandably fussy.  (Anyone would be after 4 days of diarrhea.)  My two-year-old, Connor just turned two.  Enough said.  Stranger anxiety, tantrums, the whole bit.  And I exercise, but let’s be real, ladies.  Even an Olympic athlete would tire holding a 32-pounder and an almost 20-pounder for 45 minutes.  We are all sweating–and crying–by the time we leave.  It was awful.  And with all the crying and screaming, do you think I had any of my questions answered that I so diligently write down prior to the appointment?  No.

That was Monday.  Tuesday, I naively thought that Tyson’s flu was improving and gave him a full bottle…which he promptly threw up all over me about 2 minutes after finishing.

Wednesday.  I hear Tyson stir just after 7 am and go in to find he’s blown out his diaper.  And his jammies.  And the sheets.  It’s into the tub for him.  Start another load of laundry.  Once Tyson is clean and dressed we get Connor up.  While I’m feeding Tyson his bottle, Connor trips and hits his head on a bookshelf, giving himself a black eye.  It’s not even 8 o’clock.

You get the idea.  It seemed like just when I thought I was at my limit, there was another disaster.  And although it has been exhausting, I feel like God has given me a fresh perspective.  He’s reminded me that He knows my limits far better than I do.  When I feel so tired that I feel like I could sleep for a week, He says, “Come to me, all who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.”  When I feel like my patience was gone yesterday and Connor throws another tantrum and I just want to sit down with him and cry, I hear, “My grace is sufficient for you.  My power is made perfect in weakness.”  Those words have never sounded sweeter than they did this week.  Never more reassuring.  Never more freeing.  I’m so glad our God is big enough for my rough weeks.  I’m so glad that the weaker I feel, the more mighty He is.  I’m glad He knows my limits, and when I think I’m ready to throw in the towel, He hands me a Gatorade and offers me His hand.

He also gives me friends to remind me that these days of kids crying in the doctor’s office and blowing out their diapers are here for just a season.  A short season.  And some day I’ll look back and laugh.  Some day, when I’m not wearing vomit-stained clothes.

Women’s Day 2011 August 16, 2011

So I was sitting on my porch this afternoon soaking in some much needed sunshine. It has been a perfectly gorgeous winter day, and since today was a public holiday in South Africa, I had the day off of work. It’s Women’s Day! I spent most of my “holiday” working on my to do list, cleaning the kitchen, balancing my budget, making international calls etc. and then this afternoon I decided to take a break…
So there I was, kicked back on my bench, sunglasses on, pant legs rolled up just reading my Bible, when a slim black woman a few years younger than me with the classic-African-baby-tied-to-her-back walked past.

I can only assume that even though today is a national holiday, she was most likely walking home from some type of domestic work. I hate to assume, but realistically, there really aren’t a lot of other reasons that a young black woman would be in an all white neighborhood on a holiday. I kind of doubt she was returning from a late lunch date.

I smiled at her in a casual friendly kind of way, and she responded with a shy, head-tilted-down, kind of smile that widened as it spread across her face.

When I raised my hand to wave back to her, I was blinded by the brilliant smile that lit up her whole face. I couldn’t help but be struck by how beautiful she was. Seriously, she was gorgeous in a completely pure and lovely kind of way. Tall, poised, graceful, deep dark skin and more radiant than the sun beating down on my legs.

And do you know what? She then proceeded to wish me a “Happy Women’s Day.”

“Who, me? YOU are wishing ME a Happy Women’s Day?”

“Me, the privileged white lady kicking it on her porch? While YOU just worked hard all day for a few pennies for a family that isn’t your own, in some other woman’s house, taking care of some other people’s dirty laundry and raising kids as if they were your own, you are wishing something for me?

You, who are walking home to a shack, hungry and tired with a baby on your back are wishing pleasant things for me? You are wishing for something better for all women everywhere, even the ones that have more than you do and then some? You who are the other side of the fence from my manicured lawn and barking dogs and perfectly tiled porch, while I work on my tan and use my private education to read my Bible, you desire for me to be happy today? For me to get a break and rest and be celebrated as the woman I was created to be?

I think my heart stopped beating for a solid minute.

I only barely managed to get out the words, “Why thank you, you too!” And then I burst into tears. I couldn’t decide if I wanted to crawl inside and hide in shame, or run across the yard and hug her for all that she was clearly worth.

I imagine that it might be the same feeling you would have if a soldier hunkered down under enemy fire, fighting for his life, wished you a Happy Veteran’s Day as you were lighting up the grill and your kids ran around the yard in the sprinkler. Or if your Mom had just given you ten cookies, only to catch your greedy hand in the cookie jar yet again. It’s just too much to handle. It’s embarrassing. Maybe it would stop you in your tracks for a minute and make you think too.

It’s just that those kinds of parallel events don’t usually collide in front of you. They aren’t supposed to exist in the same place at the same time. They should happen far apart, you know, so that you can think about the nature of juxtaposing situations from a safe philosophical distance, and contemplate exactly how one would navigate within such a vast contrast of circumstances.

But here? They happen in my own backyard, shoving me headlong out of philosophy and into actuality. And in actuality? She wished things for me that she doesn’t yet have for herself.

Out of the overflow of the heart, the mouth speaks. She had good things stored up in her heart towards me, and she doesn’t even know me.

But I do believe that she knows something greater and deeper and truer about selflessness than I do. And about dignity. And about noble behavior. And about being a real life embodiment of the woman I endeavor to be.

And you know what? She reminds me of someone…
A wife of noble character who can find?
She is worth far more than rubies.
Her husband has full confidence in her
and lacks nothing of value.
She brings him good, not harm,
all the days of her life.
She gets up while it is still night;
she provides food for her family
and portions for her female servants.
She considers a field and buys it;
out of her earnings she plants a vineyard.
She sets about her work vigorously;
her arms are strong for her tasks.
She sees that her trading is profitable,
and her lamp does not go out at night.
She opens her arms to the poor
and extends her hands to the needy.
When it snows, she has no fear for her household;
for all of them are clothed in scarlet.
Her husband is respected at the city gate,
where he takes his seat among the elders of the land.
She makes linen garments and sells them,
and supplies the merchants with sashes.
She is clothed with strength and dignity;
she can laugh at the days to come.
She speaks with wisdom,
and faithful instruction is on her tongue.
She watches over the affairs of her household
and does not eat the bread of idleness.
Her children arise and call her blessed;
her husband also, and he praises her:
“Many women do noble things,
but you surpass them all.”
Charm is deceptive, and beauty is fleeting;
but a woman who fears the LORD is to be praised.

Happy Women’s Day to you. May you be the kind of woman who is worthy to be praised.

Submission from Julie Guest, as seen on a blog by Amy Helms.  Ms. Helms volunteers with Living Hope Community Centre in Cape Town, South Africa.

Rachel’s Wish August 13, 2011

On July 20^th there was an accident on I-90 that led to the death of a 9-year-old girl from Bellevue.  Many of you are probably familiar with her story, not because she was killed in a local accident, but because her compassion for those in need has literally touched the world.  When Rachel Beckwith celebrated her 9^th birthday in June, she asked that friends and family make donations to charity: water, a non-profit organization whose mission is to bring safe and clean water to people in developing nations.  Rachel fell $80 short of her $300 goal that month.  After the accident, her family and church decided to reopen Rachel’s fundraising page.  On July 23^rd, she was taken off life support and went home to Jesus.  But in a manner so characteristic of God and so unexpected to us, her story continues.

The news, both local and international, can seem to focus on what’s dark and depressing in our world: failing economies, high unemployment rates, the selfishness and evil of us humans.  Despite its tragedy, however, Rachel’s story is bringing hope to our dismal condition.  No one would argue that her life ended too soon, or that nothing can fill the void that she left in the lives of those who knew and loved her.  But God, in His mighty and mysterious way, is using Rachel’s death to remind the world that we are never too young to make a difference.  We are never poor to be generous.  We are never too insignificant to be used by Him.

This story has been heavy on my heart for the three plus weeks since the accident because Rachel’s mother, Samantha, is a friend of mine.  I’ve been hugging my kids a little tighter, praying with a renewed sense of conviction for their safety, and wrestling with my lack of control as a parent—or rather, my lack of control as a person.  As I pray for Samantha, it’s hard not to feel heavy-hearted and discouraged about the sadness of the loss of life and the amount of turmoil in our world.  That being said, we serve an amazing God.  Only God can bring good out of stories like this.  Rachel’s heart to help people who need clean water has reached across the globe.  In addition to social media, all major TV networks have covered the story and spread the word about the charity.  This week Rachel’s Wish—her charity: water campaign—reached the $1 million mark.  One million dollars in donations. Over 27,000 people have donated.  Those 27,000 will be helping provide clean water to over 52,000 people around the world.

As amazing and wonderful as the numbers are, the most encouraging part for me has been to read page after page of comments from people that have donated.  Strangers and people living in opposite corners of the world are giving to a cause that one little nine-year-old believed in.  A giant, eclectic community has formed because Rachel Beckwith wanted to help people have access to clean water.  Businessmen, college students, parents, singles, young, old, rich, poor—all donating in amounts ranging from $1 to $20,000.  Some anonymously, some by name.  Parents sharing the story with their children and the children emptying their piggy banks.  Some donating in honor of loved ones.  All because they’ve been inspired.  I have been absolutely blown away as the total donated continues to climb and person after person gives of their own personal finances and shares how the story has touched them.  Whether or not you’re in a spot where you can give, I’d encourage you to go to her charity: water page and just read.  Read the encouragement offered to Rachel’s family.  Read the explanations of the size of the donation.  Read about some people giving for a second and third time.  Read about God using one little girl to challenge people’s understanding of generosity and selflessness.

This week, the Lord reminded me that the message in Rachel’s story is very similar to a message Jesus gave:

Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.

Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth.

Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be filled.

Blessed are the merciful, for they will be shown mercy.

Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will see God.

Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called sons of God.

Blessed are those who are persecuted because of righteousness, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.  (Matthew 5: 3-10)

I’m so glad His ways are mysterious, and that only He could do something so big through someone so small.

To see Rachel’s charity: water page, click here.

To watch an interview with Rachel’s mother and the CEO and founder of charity: water, click here.

To read a very good op-ed article which triggered a whole new surge of giving to the campaign, click here.

“Grace in Person” July 19, 2011

Here’s a great picture that goes with a previously submitted article about a group of Northshore Women and their selfless work with prison inmates. It’s worth a read…or re-read!

~submitted by Carry Mattocks

Varied reactions are expressed when telling people you are involved with prison ministry… running the gamut from “that’s so neat what you do” or “I could never do that.” Many images are conjured up when thinking of women in prison… are they hardened, rough women with attitudes? Are they different than us?  Yes… and no…

Yes, they are different – they’ve committed a crime and they’ve been “caught.”  It’s been said “the only difference between us and them is that they got caught.”  They live in a place like no other – an environment with lots of women in a confined area; many struggling to figure out how this happened to them and how they can better themselves and not let it happen again.  They have to dress like everyone else, eat what’s given to them, sleep and live with whomever is assigned to them, obey lots and lots of rules and try to live with many other struggling women.  Most have dysfunctional family backgrounds, parents who were bad role models, or abandoned or abused them.  As Pastor Jonathan puts it – they are one of the “least, the last and the lost.”

No, they are not different - every woman in prison is someone’s daughter, maybe a sister; most are mothers, some grandmothers and they are each valued by God, just like us!  Some of the inmates we have visited have been our neighbors, gone to our churches and were family friends.  Most will be let out and be part of society again.

Romans 3 says, “for all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God.”  Would Jesus care about these women in prison, or should we despise them because they did a bad thing? Zacchaeus was a tax collector. He was despised because he was a deceitful man, cheating people of their money and resorting to false accusations to get what he wanted.  One day, Jesus visited him. The Bible makes no mention of Jesus rebuking him for his dishonest lifestyle the whole time they were together. Instead, Jesus showed him grace and honor by spending time with him.  A moment with Jesus completely changed Zacchaeus’ heart.  A moment with “grace in person” — without accusations, condemnation or judgment — caused an inward transformation in Zacchaeus.

Grace in person – There are women at Northshore doing just that – being “grace in person” to women in prison.  Can you do it? If you know how to be a listening friend, you can do it!  The women’s prison visitation ministry matches an inmate in Purdy with a volunteer who commits to visiting once a month for a year.  NSB women carpool together one Sunday afternoon a month to visit with our inmate; showing Jesus cares by encouraging them in their relationship with the Lord and helping them make good choices to better themselves before they get out of prison – “grace in person.”  If you’d like join us for a trial visit to see what it’s all about, contact me at carrym@nsb.org for more information or go to http://www.m2w2.org/.

Daddy’s Little Girl June 18, 2011

~submitted by Kim Aemmer

I felt honored when asked to write a few words about what Fathers Day means to me. God my father in Heaven, and Edward Jones my dad here on earth, share responsibility for my life. Proverbs 23:22 says, “Listen to your father, who gave you life.” I believe I was entrusted to my father at birth. His job was to love, protect, teach and honor me. This I believe he did without question, better than any other human being could have.

As a small girl, I remember vividly how my father would take me on his back into the ocean for a swim. He seemed bigger than the surf; taller than the waves and I always felt safe. There was nothing my father could not do in my eyes.

Lee Iacocca once said, “We are continually faced by great opportunities brilliantly disguised as insoluble problems.” That sounds like fatherhood to me! Let me quote my dad for you now. The funniest quote I’ve ever heard was, “I thought I was wrong once but I was mistaken.”

The best quote of all, are the words he spoke to me as a careless teenage daughter that had not done her chores on time, again. I snapped at him about having to do chores, and he responded with “You do not have to do anything, You may choose to do certain things that will make life go easier, but remember, you do not have to do anything.” These profound words, at that young age made a huge impact on my life. I share those words whenever I get the chance. They showed me I did not need to do anything to ‘fit it’ or conform to peer pressure. They did teach me if I do my chores, in other words, what is expected of me, that life will be better.

Dad has remained steadfast through the years of my constant mistakes. During the times I took a left when my dad subtly suggested I take a right. My dad became a success generator, to be strong, be bold and be courageous. When I look back on life, it is clear to me he has modeled these attributes for me.

Although I am a mother myself, I am now and shall always remain, daddy’s little girl. The title will never wear out, grow old, or become too small to fit. I love my father with all my heart and am thankful to God for placing me in the care of my dad, forever.

“But prove yourselves doers of the word ” James 1:22 May 28, 2011

~submitted by Jane Baumgartner

The back story:

Ruth Wright has served as a weekly volunteer at Kenmore Elementary for decades. She is also the coordinator for the seamstress team at Northshore, a group of women that grew out of  Community Serve Day who get together to work on various charity sewing projects. As a physical therapist for the Northshore School District, I use something called a weighted lap pad with my students. The weight provides a calming affect for students with special needs. After spending 2 full days trying to make my own version of a weighted lap pad, I asked Ruth if this would be something her team would be willing to undertake. She took the idea to the group with some samples of commercial ones and my homemade one and her team created the prototype. They suggested waterproof fabric and a pillow case cover so that they could withstand an occasional spill. The kept their eyes open for fabric (including the old drapes) and started gathering. Beans came next and the rest is history. Last Monday, while the woman were sewing, a woman walked in and asked if she could have one of the pads for her autistic son. Sometimes God isn’t even subtle!

The Impact:

Dear Northshore Seamstress Team,

Thank you, thank you, thank you for sharing your gift of time and talent with the students and therapists of the Northshore School District! The thought of scissors snipping, sewing machines humming, and beans flying all because you wanted to help our students, brings a smile to my face and lump in my throat. The weighted lap pads will be distributed throughout the

district by our occupational and physical therapists. Students with autism, ADD, ADHD, and sensory processing disorders will be able to use these to help them calm their nervous systems and focus on learning. The weight provides sensory input and a sense of security or “grounding.” The texture of the cover provides an appropriate outlet for fid

gety hands. Each one of these weighted pads would cost over $40 to purchase commercially.

Our small group has been studying a book called “Crazy Love” by Francis Chan. It encourages people to do radical things in the name of Christ. I am not sure that everything we do has to be huge and “radical” in order to impact our world for Jesus. Your efforts will bless 24 therapists, 22 schools, countless teachers and more than 60 students each day. Thank you for using your talents in such a tangible and practical way. We feel loved!

Love,

Jane Baumgartner

Physical Therapist

Northshore School District

Significance Revealed May 7, 2011

By the time I was eight years old, I had seen the communion plate pass before me hundreds of times. It was always followed with the words from Luke 22:19, “He took the bread, gave thanks and broke it, and gave it to them, saying, “This is my body given for you; do this in remembrance of me.” As the organ played softly and a sense of solemnest filled the church, the congregation would partake of the bread in unison. It was followed with the juice and the words, “this cup is the new covenant in my blood, which is poured out for you”. Drink it in remembrance of me. I was fascinated by the ritual, filled with complete wonder and sure that if I partook of the bread and juice, I would instantly be filled with answers to all my questions. It was magical, I convinced myself.

Sitting just a few rows back from the front of the church alone with my brother and sister, while mom sang in the choir and Dad served communion on the opposite side of the church, I knew this was my time. I was eager, filled with anticipation to partake of this special sacrament. I longed to be a part of something special. Just as the plate was to pass before me, I caught a glimpse of my mother’s eye and a quick jerk of her head, telling me “no.” It was subtle, but I knew she meant business. I didn’t understand but I let the plate pass by me. I remember her response so clearly when I later asked her why I couldn’t take communion. She said, “It’s important for you to understand what it truly represents first.” It’s been a whole lot of years since then, but each Sunday (as our church and several that we have attended since offers communion weekly) I have pondered the question: Do I really understand the meaning, the significance of communion?

Out of fear of not understanding, I haven’t taken communion for a very long time. But two Sundays ago, that changed. It changed with the simple words from our Pastor. He said, “This is a time to remember His sufferings and to embrace His glory.” Simple, like I said. So simple it didn’t seem right or at least not enough, which caused me to go home and dig. I read for hours, skimming every book I had in my home library that touched on the subject. And what I was left with at the end of the night was two-and- half pages of notes that all said roughly the same thing, the same things I already knew, the same things I have read and heard about my entire life.

So the next Sunday, feeling a deep pounding in my chest that I have learned to take notice of, I heard God saying, “it’s time Beloved”. I didn’t make excuses. I didn’t hide behind my questions. I didn’t try to justify anything. I just went. Head hung low and tears spilling down my cheeks, I slowly walked to the front of the church to partake in the bread and juice. I walked back to my seat, sacraments in hand where I couldn’t help but to sob deeply. I buried my head in my lap and let God lead me through this.

My thoughts made their way back to the night of the supper, when Jesus spoke those words. Oh, how he must have trembled as he spoke, perhaps biting his lip from time to time to keep from sobbing as he tore the bread and poured the wine. How could he not, as He told the twelve about becoming our sacrificial lamb and making a new covenant with His people. The twelve hung on his every word, trying to comprehend what He was telling them, but it was out of their grasp, out of their understanding. Yet, they ate the bread and drank the wine, because they believed Him to be the Son of God and He told them to do this as a way to remember what He would do for them. I find great comfort in knowing the disciples didn’t quite get it but obeyed anyway because they longed to worship Him. The next day, they would understand that the wine represented the cup of redemption; which Jesus became, pouring out his blood, his life for the redemption, the rescue of man. We have been redeemed and forgiven. We have been bought with a price! A price that cost Him his life!

Sitting there sacraments in hand, seeing so clearly the picture Christ left for us of that night, being fully aware of my sinfulness, my unworthiness and knowing to the depth of my soul that He did it all for me, I inhaled the sweetest way I now know to worship and honor Him. I remember Him, what He did for me, embracing the gift of grace and forgiveness He has bestowed on me. I am amazed by His glory.

(I don’t know if I really had the understanding at 8 years old and my mother was right in making me stop, question and understand before partaking in the Lord’s Supper. I’m sure she didn’t think it would take me 28 years to figure it out. Nonetheless, she was right! Thank you mom for challenging me, which brought me closer to the Lord)

Eph. 1:7-8 “In Him we have redemption through His blood, the forgiveness of sins, in accordance with the riches of God’s grace that He lavished on us with all wisdom and understanding.”

In looking for the lyrics to an old hymn I sung as a child, I stumbled across the lyrics below. They suit better than the ones I was looking for and mirror my heart completely.

I Stand Amazed
Written by- Marc Byrd

I bring You my heart
I bring You my praise
I bring You my broken dreams
I’ve lost along the way
I lift up my voice
I lift up my hands
I lift up the moments in my life
That I don’t understand
And I lay it at the cross
Where I’m surrounded by
Your grace
And I marvel at the wonder of Your love

I stand amazed
I stand in awe
I stand forgiven in the midst of it all

Before You I bow
Before You I fall
Blessed Redeemer,
Sweet Savior of all
I stand amazed

I offer You thanks
I offer my life
I offer a sacrifice of praise
When I’m scattered by the night
For You are my shelter
You are my King
You are the risen Son of God
The Lord of everything

Now I’m standing at the cross
Where I’m surrounded by Your grace
And I marvel at the wonder of Your love
There is life in His body
There is grace in His blood
There is peace for the sinner
Given by God’s grace

~submitted from Karyn Schneider’s blog at http://vintagechicthoughts.blogspot.com/

Lessons from My Washing Machine April 30, 2011

submitted by Leona Bergstrom

I learned something from my washing machine today: Don’t overload.

Now for someone who has been a “Household Executive” for 39 years and has probably done at least 7,488 loads of laundry (maybe more!), you would think that I would have the technique down. But no. I get impatient and I have very high expectations for my washing machine.

My tendency to stuff the machine with as much as I could possibly put in accelerated when I moved into a new house with a washer marked “Super High Capacity.” Wow. The possibility existed for washing every towel in the house at one time. I crammed and jammed for months. Then last week a faint aroma of burning rubber tickled my nostrils. With every load the smell became more intense. I finally called a repairman.

Yep. Motor burning out. Too much stuff. OVERLOAD.

I’m finding the same to be true in my life. At my age I have a lot of experience, education and insight upon which to draw. I feel that I’ve finally reached “Super High Capacity.” So, I’m cramming and jamming all kinds of things into my day to be sure I live life with purpose, vision, vitality and productivity. I’m having the time of my life doing the things I believe I’m called to do. But this morning, I sensed a faint aroma of burning rubber…..

I’ve quit overloading the washing machine. I put in less clothes and more water, and “voila” the machine spins and splashes and even agitates with freedom. No more burning smell, although the repairman told me it was a matter of time before the little motor gives up completely.

I just know there’s a lesson in there somewhere.

BLESSING BAGS April 19, 2011

Our Tuesday morning women’s Bible study – called Women in the Word, had a special morning on March 29^th.   We had just completed our Philippians Bible study, and had to opportunity to make blessing bags to give to the homeless people we meet by the freeways, or malls, or passing by on the street.

Have you ever felt torn?  Seeing these people in need – are you conflicted?  Wondering what to give, or even if you should give?  I was encouraged a while ago, to keep a boxed meal of chicken salad and crackers in my car.  No can opener needed – crackers and delicious chicken salad…an easy gift of nutrition.  I shared this idea with many people, and it was so well received.  I spoke with another Women’s Ministry director in California who had another idea – expand the blessing!   So – thinking about what would be a handy nutritious gift – we decided to put together a few things in a bag to give.

A water bottle, a wet wipe or two, box of raisins, granola bar, and peanuts, all put in a Ziploc bag, with a message of encouragement and a blessing for the recipient.  These are great bags to keep in your car, or your backpack to have handy should a need arise.   The extra bags that were assembled will be given out this week with the Isaiah 58 ministry as they head downtown to serve dinner.

Here I Go Again March 12, 2011

Read the lyrics to this song by Casting Crowns – they are haunting. Have you ever wanted to share Christ with someone but were just too afraid? You wanted to speak the words of life but instead ended up talking about the rain. Let this song inspire you towards boldness in your life. Like the song says…what am I so affraid of? 

Here I Go Again by Casting Crowns        Listen to a sample of this song here.

Father, hear my prayer
I need the perfect words
Words that he will hear
And know they’re straight from You
I don’t know what to say
I only know it hurts
To see my only friend slowly fade away

So maybe this time I’ll speak the words of life
With Your fire in my eyes
But that old familiar fear is tearing at my words
What am I so afraid of?

Chorus:
‘Cause here I go again
Talkin ’bout the rain
And mulling over things that won’t live past today
And as I dance around the truth
Time is not his friend
This might be my last chance to tell him
That You love Him
But here I go again, here I go again

Lord, You love him so, You gave Your only Son
If he will just believe; he will never die
But how then will he know what he has never heard
Lord he has never seen mirrored in my life

This might be my last chance to tell him
That You love him
This might be my last chance to tell him
That You love him
You love him, You love him

What Am I so afraid
What am I so afraid
What am I so afraid of?
How then will he know
What he has never heard