Power in Weakness

Sometimes somebody says something that just makes sense of your life. One word - or one statement - causes all of the disjointed jigsaw pieces to miraculously come together, hover in the air for one breathtaking moment of suspense, and then form a beautifully uniform picture before your very eyes. You don't know what I mean? Okay, let me explain. I'm still studying the book of Romans. Last time I wrote a blog, I was on chapter 1. Well, I haven't gotten very far in the past few weeks. I'm on chapter 5 now. Last night and this morning I listened to a sermon by Billy Humphrey on Romans 5:3-5, which reads: "Not only that, but we rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not put us to shame, because God's love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit who has been given to us." If you think a whole sermon on such a short passage is a st...

Sometimes if a particular Bible verse sticks out to me in an especially potent way I will write it down on an index card and carry it around with me for a day. I'll refer back to it, sometimes memorize it, and meditate on its meaning, praying different aspects of it. Yesterday I did this with the following verse from the book of Romans: "For I am not ashamed of the gospel, for it is the power of God for salvation to everyone who believes, to the Jew first and also to the Greek." (Romans 1:16) Awesome, right?! Maybe it's because everyone around me lately has been talking about evangelism; maybe it's because I've been listening to Matt Chandler sermons non-stop, and he is quite gospel-obsessed; maybe it's just the Lord - but this verse grabbed me, and it continues to expand and build momentum the more that I think about it. There is one question, specifically, that arises as I reflect on the truth of this Scripture. If Paul is not ashamed of it, and if...

The two travelers made their way along the dusty road away from the hubbub of Jerusalem. Their faces down, their conversations kept circling back to the same thing - the events that had transpired during the week of the Passover. Sometimes hushed, other times droning with a slow and despairing tone, and often rising with a burst of intense frustration, their voices could be heard echoing through the still, middle eastern air. The road was littered with pilgrims returning from the Feast, so a fellow sojourner in proximity to them was not that out of place. But this man had been catching up to the two talkers for the last fifteen minutes, and was now finally overtaking them. Their dialogue ceased as the lone commuter fell into step next to them. He unselfconsciously took a second to study their tense faces - then his face broke into a smile. "What are you discussing together as you walk along?" Cleopas and his companion slowed to a halt, wondering how to answer such a nai...

I have led prayer meetings as long as I have been walking with the Lord, with the exception of a couple years where I simply attended them. I have preached prayer. I have exhorted my friends to pray, and have urged the pastors I know personally to make prayer a central aspect of their ministry. From what I have read in the Bible and in church history, I live with an understanding that no great move of God has ever occurred outside of a group of people set on seeking the Lord in prayer and obeying His voice in humility. Most importantly, God has put a deep hunger inside of me to meet Him in the secret place in prayer for as long as I have been baptized in the Holy Spirit (or "experienced God," for the non-charismatics out there). All the same, God is doing something new inside of me with regard to prayer. And frankly, I feel like a novice. I wonder if I even really know how to pray. I truly believe that a man is as great as his prayer life. It's not something you can m...

Some people seem to be unaffected by the Lord of the Rings obsession of the past decade or so.  I am not one of those people.  I was inducted into the cult-like following after a movie-watching marathon in 2003 that culminated with the premier showing of Return of the King at midnight in December.  Not much of a fan before that, I gathered with a group of friends at Walta's house to watch both The Fellowship of the Ring and The Two Towers back-to-back in one day, which turned out to be a six hour venture on its own.  By the end of The Two Towers I had been caught up in J. R. R. Tolkien's epic storyline and couldn't wait until midnight of the next day to see the finale of Frodo and Gandalf's adventure.  I was not disappointed.  A large group, mostly from the old Savior's youth group, filed into the movie theater a few minutes before 12a that night with coffee in our blood and expectation in our souls.  The movie didn't end until close to 3a, and I d...

I didn't take the comment personal - I promise.  And I don't think they meant any harm.  It was a little surprising, though.        Mostly, it made me sad.  For them.      I was with a group of people the other day, and one of them made this remark: "I am so thankful to have my health.  If you don't have your health, you don't have anything!"        I cringed when they said it.  Not because I was upset, like I mentioned, but because I was the only person in the room with an obvious and serious physical ailment, and I self-consciously feared all eyes would turn towards me.  Thankfully, they didn't.  The conversation resumed, other ideas were brought up, but my thoughts were still contemplating that statement.        It sounded like a clever maxim, the kind that is passed on from grandmother to parent, from parent to child, and...

I recently finished a book!  The following blog entry is a peak into what it is all about.  I hope to have it published in the next month or so.   Not too long ago I sat next to a grieving friend who was weeping over another loss in her life.   The emotional tragedies seemed to be coming in successive waves, each one more disheartening than the last, with little recovery time in between them.   I sat there silent, not knowing what consolation I could give.   After a moment she looked up at me and a few others that were surrounding her.   She wiped away the tears from her mascara riddled face, and from a broken heart moaned, “I just want to be happy!”        The memory is particularly vivid because I related to her in that moment.   Perhaps we can all relate to a statement as simple and fundamental as such.   I had been wrestling with a chronic illness for several years at this point, and I, too, knew w...