tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31718962748065996112024-02-19T07:51:47.776-08:00The Fire BowlStories, laughter, songs and friendshipChris Whitlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08397211532910336393noreply@blogger.comBlogger82125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3171896274806599611.post-61360455101210352612015-11-02T19:20:00.002-08:002015-11-02T19:20:24.291-08:00It is not such a bad thing to be broken - Patrick Lowry<i>It's been quite a while since anything has been posted to this page. I created this space to give my friends a place to express creativity, thoughts, poetry and music. But it seems with social media and the myriad ways we can now post online, this kind of space isn't needed as much. But last week, my friend Patrick submitted a piece for my last request. And on paper of all things! Thank you, Patrick! And if you, dear reader who may be out there, have some creative way of addressing this same theme, feel free to send it to me at cwhitler@gmail.com. C</i><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEOXfK8zO5Oh7S8RI9NcV74gYjpqzjYb_PozwAaIIm1Wq6ZSg52DV38L5GYEjvSPm9psz7SjbcrGFNtCpaLCBf1jRVcqCE16OAzVEqIBiqNnXjqUogp8DCCTVDW1HkxG6RPXUDq5A0WVc/s1600/IMG_20151102_1912029_rewind.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEOXfK8zO5Oh7S8RI9NcV74gYjpqzjYb_PozwAaIIm1Wq6ZSg52DV38L5GYEjvSPm9psz7SjbcrGFNtCpaLCBf1jRVcqCE16OAzVEqIBiqNnXjqUogp8DCCTVDW1HkxG6RPXUDq5A0WVc/s400/IMG_20151102_1912029_rewind.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">The sad thing is that most of us who are broken don't realize it. We struggle to present an appearance of normality while inside we do everything possible to repress our anxieties and doubts.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">It is incredibly liberating to recognize our broken selves - indeed to embrace them as part of who we are.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">When we recognize our brokenness, we can begin our journey to become an integrated soul. I don't think I know anyone who doesn't have some painful twisted up thing deep inside.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">By owning our brokenness - by admitting that we are incomplete, we learn the virtue of humility which is essential to picking up our cross and following Christ.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Patrick</span></div>
Chris Whitlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08397211532910336393noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3171896274806599611.post-65424205441753850362014-09-30T09:45:00.000-07:002014-09-30T09:45:15.229-07:00A poem by Patrick Lowry<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJpwdjSzCHmx5dyRCyd8UWx8AYGey8Q0ZoPvyi9loHgGW-85HqJfdtMrknk6OxWMcS3G9qSdHN-jN-N9JXLq7eLOpkQXt9GLKbTtAu_vtDX79gZ83BRM4gWUZgyausB27_xJ80lu7gNWg/s1600/IMG_4422.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJpwdjSzCHmx5dyRCyd8UWx8AYGey8Q0ZoPvyi9loHgGW-85HqJfdtMrknk6OxWMcS3G9qSdHN-jN-N9JXLq7eLOpkQXt9GLKbTtAu_vtDX79gZ83BRM4gWUZgyausB27_xJ80lu7gNWg/s1600/IMG_4422.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">As the universe ticks down</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">And entropy sucks the marrow from the stars</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">While matter slips inexorably into chaos</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Christ is gathering substance and form</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">He is building Himself from swirling atoms</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Of the lonely and broken</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">The void is filling with the beating of wings</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">And from the forgotten corners of the night</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">His reign is born</span></div>
Chris Whitlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08397211532910336393noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3171896274806599611.post-73934746572610794242014-03-12T11:01:00.000-07:002014-03-12T11:01:04.076-07:00An Evening With Bradford Loomis<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: large;">Join us around the fire bowl for an acoustic concert with Bradford Loomis! You can check out his music at <a href="http://www.bradfordloomis.com/">http://www.bradfordloomis.com</a></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">This concert is free but we will be accepting gifts to help Bradford get farther down the road. He'll also have CDs you can purchase.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Wed., March 19 at 6:30pm at New Hope Christian Fellowship, 300 Trask Lane, Modesto, CA 95354</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Call 209-404-4027 for more info.</span>Chris Whitlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08397211532910336393noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3171896274806599611.post-86815034950384188642013-09-27T19:00:00.000-07:002013-09-27T19:00:04.591-07:00Midnight - Patrick Lowry<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: large;">Midnight of the spirit</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I am alone,</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">The Presence eludes me</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">And I am lost to find my way</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">In black,</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">To struggle in darkness</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Keeping demons of despair at bay</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Until a different kind of dawn</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Breaks my private hell</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">And His sun rises</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">On my exhausted soul.</span></div>
Chris Whitlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08397211532910336393noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3171896274806599611.post-17234598533856507812013-07-08T15:28:00.000-07:002013-07-08T15:28:33.093-07:00Unemployment, Community and the Future of the Family - Aron Smith<i>This is reposted from Aron's blog which you can follow at <a href="http://amapofcalifornia.wordpress.com/" target="_blank">http://amapofcalifornia.wordpress.com</a> </i><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I have been thinking about unemployment insurance a lot lately. With the questionable future of my current work location, some of my coworkers who have never had occasion to receive unemployment benefits are contemplating what would be a first for them.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">In the short term, I think unemployment insurance constitutes sound economic logic. Capitalism assumes that most people will work for a living and use their income to support themselves. This cycle of earning and spending is what makes our economic system go ‘round. The social contract posits that when a break in this cycle occurs because an individual becomes unemployed due to no fault of her/his own, she or he is entitled to dip into common weal for a brief period of time during which efforts to become re-employed occur. In other words, the taxes of those who are working help to support those who, temporarily, are not.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">The idea is that those who are laid off due to economic factors beyond their control (bankruptcy of the employer or a recession, for example) should not be punished. On the contrary, they should be rewarded for their past labors while they find their way toward resuming their roles as productive members of society and contributors to the economy.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Implicit in this provision of the social contract is that the unemployed person will return to the work force as soon as possible. This implied condition is made explicit by state unemployment laws that limit benefits to a prescribed number of months.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Remaining unemployed rather resuming work at the earliest opportunity is discouraged by a twofold maneuver. First, unemployment benefits are calculated on a schedule that assures that individuals receive a relatively small percentage of the income earned while working. Hopefully, the receipt of unemployment benefits will provide the out of work with a modicum of support for their families (on an austerity budget, to be sure) sufficient to prevent hunger and homelessness. Second, unemployment benefits end after a specified amount of time. This provision is designed to light a fire under the unemployed, creating a sense of urgency fueled by the prospect of destitution should benefits end before re-employment is secured.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Where this neat little system falls apart, of course, is when this threat morphs from theory into reality. Recent statistics suggest that the unemployment rate in the United States is falling, an indicator of increasing economic health. As with any financial measure, however, the accuracy of one’s numbers depends on how you count. The apparent decrease in the unemployment rate is, at least in part, a product of fewer individuals receiving unemployment benefits. It is well known that a reduction in the unemployment rolls does not necessarily mean that more people are gainfully employed. It may well reflect the thousands of people who have exhausted their unemployment benefits, thus falling off the charts even though they are still out of work. These are our neighbors who fly under the radar, neither employed nor on unemployment benefits, and thus nonexistent as far as our tunnel vision economic figures are concerned. The long-term unemployed become invisible.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Let’s spend a moment thinking about what happens to those who find themselves in this predicament — out of benefit weeks and still out of a job. Out of luck. As a society, we are simply abandoning these people, leaving them to their own devices. After all, they need to be punished because they failed to follow the rules by finding work within the prescribed period of time. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">But what if their failure to find work is no fault of their own, just as the reason that they became unemployed in the first place was no fault of their own? What if a person has diligently sought employment to no avail? This can happen for any number of reasons. In this age of microchips, there is the ever-present threat of technological obsolescence (otherwise known as “I’ve been replaced by a robot.”) I can appreciate this one, having personally performed two different types of jobs that have virtually gone out of existence in this country.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Perhaps the plant has moved out of state or overseas, where operating costs are so much lower. Perhaps there is no similar work available in the unemployed person’s geographic area. Perhaps he or she is not at liberty to move due to family commitments or health challenges. As it is, we have become a very mobile society, rolling stones who miss out on yesteryear’s advantage of strong community roots. We acknowledge this as far as not denying unemployment benefits to those who decline to move hundreds of miles away to the nearest available job. But then we shrug it off when the benefit period runs out. If you really want to work, move far away from your support system and work! If not, starve. Let the support system to which you are so attached take care of you.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Whoa, stop right there. When a person loses her job, we don’t throw her on the mercy of her family. We recognize this person as a valued member of society who has fallen on hard times, and we provide her with some measure of support. After a time, however, we say “okay, we’ve done enough, now it’s your family’s turn.” What is wrong with this picture?</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">There are those who long for the good old days when members of extended families took care of each other. No unemployment benefits needed, or as Archie and Edith Bunker cheekily sang every week during the opening of TV’s All in the Family, “didn’t need no welfare state (everybody pulled his weight).” If one member of the family was unable to earn a paycheck, that individual could contribute in other ways, including child care, elder care and household maintenance. Then, of course, there was also a thriving underground economy (in our inner cities, there still is — and not all of it has to do with selling drugs, either). People grew gardens and raised chickens, both for their own consumption and to help feed their neighbors. Payment was not always in cash; barter thrived. Although Craig’s List and the TV show Barter Kings suggest that we may be returning to this model, it is still a drop in the economic bucket.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">You see, a funny thing happened on the way to the forum: The extended family who we expect to support the long-term unemployed has ceased to exist, at least among the middle class (leaving people out on the street and scavenging in dumpsters). As if the post-World War II transition from the extended family model to the nuclear family were not bad enough, the cancer of family breakdown has now advanced to the point where even the nuclear family has crumbled into dust. Fathers have become marginalized as single mothers raise their children and young adults choose to remain single for longer and longer periods of time. There is no longer any shame or stigma attached to “personal choices” from abortion to childlessness to refusal to provide financial and emotional support to aging parents. Meanwhile, the middle class, who have failed miserably in their attempt to glorify the nuclear family, continue to look down their noses at the poor who are forced by economic circumstances to crowd many people into small dwellings, whether urban apartments or rural cottages.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">But I am hopeful. Perhaps the vagaries of the economy and the evanescence of unemployment benefits will have the unintended effect of encouraging the resurgence of the extended family. Perhaps the day will come when it will again become common for grandparents, uncles, cousins and friends to share a residence, each one contributing his or her special talents to the communal well-being of the family unit. Perhaps contiguous family units (in old-fashioned lingo, these were called “neighbors”) will again check on each other’s welfare and engage in random acts of sharing. Perhaps we will shake off our jaded ways and decide that community is still important. Perhaps we will once again decide that we need each other, that we are indeed our brothers’ keepers.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">As John Donne wrote more than four hundred years ago:</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"> No man is an island,</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"> Entire of itself,</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"> Every man is a piece of the continent,</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"> A part of the main.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Amen.</span><br />
Chris Whitlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08397211532910336393noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3171896274806599611.post-3537143745308768272013-04-15T07:07:00.000-07:002013-04-15T07:07:06.761-07:00Resurrection - Aron Smith<br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><i>Dear Reader, Aron let me know that he wrote this piece with Bob Carlisle's song "We Fall Down" in mind. If you'd like to hear that song, you can watch the official video <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=saYYm1CkX3M" target="_blank">HERE</a>. -Chris</i></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">If you’ve read my recent piece on hospitality, you are aware of my tendency to make a bee line for the dictionary before I start in on a topic. This time is no exception.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">The word resurrection is derived from two Latin words, the prefix re- and the verb surgere, to rise again. As such, it is identical in origin to the word resurgence. Both words carry the implication of bringing something/someone back to life after he/she/it was thought to be dead, either literally or figuratively.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">To go a step further with the etymology, the word resurrection contains the Latin root rect-, meaning “right.” Something that had fallen down (dead) is being righted, or restored to the upright position, not unlike the tray tables on a commercial jetliner when it’s time to descend for a landing.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">The idea of restoring to life that which was thought to be lost forever is, of course, a highly romantic notion. We get all wistful and misty-eyed over things lost, be they youth, money, ideals, faith or that one argyle sock that went into the dryer but never came out, lost forever among the lint balls.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">We view all these things as being gone for good, irretrievably lost, perdido in Spanish or fafaln in the Yiddish that I grew up with. The Yiddish word literally means “fallen”; in both the Yiddish and the Spanish, there is the implication of “damned,” or “lost to a place from which there is no return.” So this is not just any fall, but the Fall, as in Adam and Eve.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">The idea of resurrection seems to cancel out all that. It is a word infused with hope to its very core; the concept implies that nothing is so lost that, under the right circumstances, it cannot be brought back to life. The Bible teaches us that the right circumstance for rescue of lost causes is an extreme measure of faith.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">Most of us associate “resurrection” with the events immediately following the death of Jesus. However, the concept is first established in the Old Testament.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">Arguably the best known incidents of resurrection are Jesus’ raising of Lazarus in John Chapter 11 and the prophet Elijah’s revival of the son of the widow of Zarephath in 1 Kings 17:17-24. Interestingly, the Hebrew names of Elijah and Lazarus are very similar, the former being Eliyahu (“my God is Jehovah”) and the latter being Eliezer (“God is my help”). Elijah himself had no need of resurrection, as he was transported to heaven alive in a whirlwind by a chariot of fire. 2 Kings 2:11 His protégé, Elisha, performs a resurrection upon the son of a Shunammite woman in 2 Kings 4:31-37.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">The “never say die” ethic inherent in the concept of resurrection implies that there is always hope, that nothing is impossible. Occurring in the spring of the year, Easter and Passover are festivals celebrating renewal at a season marked by the “rebirth” of plants upon the warming of the frozen earth as well as the appearance of a new generation of animals. The egg, which figures prominently in the customs of both holidays, is the very symbol of fertility and regeneration.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">However, resurrection implies not only a physical renewal, but a spiritual one as well. This time of year can be viewed as an opportunity for second chances born of self-examination. If we take a good, hard look in the mirror and do not see the person we had hoped for, there is no time like the present to make changes. If we have veered off the path, now is the time to make corrections and return to the right road.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">This is a good time not only to count our blessings, but also to make a renewed effort to bestow them on others. Let us not forget those who are more unfortunate than us, as inconvenient as it may seem to give of our time and financial resources. If we have become jaded by the vicissitudes of life, now is the time to resurrect our ideals.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">Just as our prophets did in the Bible, we too can perform resurrections by providing the gift of hope to the hopeless.</span></span></div>
Chris Whitlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08397211532910336393noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3171896274806599611.post-18617275645474880592013-04-04T06:00:00.000-07:002013-04-04T06:00:03.536-07:00Twins, Summer and Resurrection - James Harrison<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">Summer is coming! It's true, it's only April, but it's (mostly) warm and sunny and there's no looking back! Before adulthood, summer was easily the best time of the year. No school; what more could you ask for? Besides chores, my sunny seasons were spent riding bikes, playing basketball, and hanging out with friends. But after I finished school and entered Youth With A Mission, moving to Alberta, Canada, the summers merely meant that the sun would still be in the sky after work was over, as opposed to seeing stars come out at 5 pm. But besides work, the June, July, and August months meant occasionally visiting good ol' California to see my family.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">Now, I have a twin sister. Before you ask, we are indeed identical twins, both in facial appearance and height. Yes, throughout our lives, most people can't tell who was James and who was Julie. It led to all kinds of problems. Julie would dress like me and get into all kinds of trouble, and the next thing I knew, I was being punished! It was tragic. But as adults, we've reconciled our conflicts and get along just fine. Mostly. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">Joking aside, one thing about my twin is this: she is summer. She embodies it, from her bubbly personality that cannot be eclipsed to her shining face filled with excitement. If you're around her, you know what she's feeling. If she's happy and laughing, you will be too! The sun is a ball of light and energy, never ceasing. And my sister is just as hard to shadow if she has set her mind to something. Once when we were seven, Julie got a hold of some flower seeds and started digging a hole. When I found her she was reading the bag of seeds and asked me what 6" meant. Intelligently, I told her, "It means six feet." (Whoops) She said, "How big is that?" "Julie, you'll have to dig for as tall as Jacob!" Sitting in the dirt with her wild, brown, curly hair, she thought for a moment then said, "Okay," and went back to work with the shovel.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">She is persistent, loving, and full of life. Like the sun. Like summertime, that time of year I'm accustomed to seeing her. So when I think of the resurrection of Jesus Christ, I think of a special time of the year, lasting the entire year! Seasons disappear and it's summer all year around. The atmosphere is energetic and life is the air we breathe. Our Creator is persistent to plant seeds that don't stop growing, and he will never withhold his Spirit that waters us each day, until the sun stops shining.</span></span></div>
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<br />Chris Whitlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08397211532910336393noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3171896274806599611.post-91666070539774624082013-04-02T09:46:00.000-07:002013-04-02T09:46:05.949-07:00Hosanna - Beth Morgan<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Last week I was trying to think of what songs to lead for Palm Sunday at church and naturally started thinking through all of the “Hosanna” repertoire.</span><span style="font-size: large;"> </span><span style="font-size: large;"> </span><span style="font-size: large;">I started to reflect on the 80’s number, “Hosanna Hosanna Hosanna in the highest…Lord we lift up Your name with hearts full of praise.</span><span style="font-size: large;"> </span><span style="font-size: large;"> </span><span style="font-size: large;">Be exalted, oh Lord our God.</span><span style="font-size: large;"> </span><span style="font-size: large;">Hosanna in the highest” and I was reminded of the first time I remember hearing it and the realized it’s an interesting and befitting story.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">The first time I heard this song was the German version, “<span lang="DE">Hosanna in der Höhe“</span>. I remember thinking how cool it was that in German, “Hosanna” was the same and that the rest of the line sounded funny, but cool. I was 8. My big brother had just returned from a trip to East Germany. He, with a group of teenagers plus a couple of group leaders, managed to get into East Germany and I remember him telling me that they brought a keyboard to a secret group of Christians that were meeting.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">The other day when I was remembering this, I started to imagine a windowless room full of East Germans singing with hearts full of praise and hopeful that the King would come and rescue them from a dark, difficult and oppressive time. I started to think about Jesus riding his donkey into Jerusalem before crowds of Jews so weary and longing for the promised King to rescue them from the oppression of the Romans. The parallels were obvious and my heart did a little leap with the realization that in my lifetime, many believer’s prayers were answered and that I possess a piece of that infamous dividing wall that was brought down.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">My thoughts turned to “far-off” lands today where I imagine there to be secret churches praying with hearts full of praise and with expectant hope of the intervention of the just and good King. Oh that we would join with them more in prayer and solidarity, rejoicing that the King has come and praying that His kingdom would come on earth as it is in heaven. Hosanna.</span></div>
Chris Whitlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08397211532910336393noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3171896274806599611.post-62070027833260775342013-03-31T05:00:00.000-07:002013-03-31T05:00:01.052-07:00The Gardener - Aaron Alford<br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">The two men had run off, as they were so prone to do, never giving the stranger in the garden a second glance. The woman who was with them had followed. He was alone now. He stretched wide and took in the morning sun as it fell warmly on his face, his hands, and on the garden’s green leaves. The air was cool, and smelled of the freshness of a newborn day. A morning song sprang suddenly from the sky above him, and the singer lighted gently on a branch just a few feet away. He stood there, watching her preen her wings, and he marveled at such a small and elegant creature. She cocked her head and puzzled at him for a moment. She sang once more, as if to ask who he might be. He smiled in response, and the singer hopped into the sky in a flutter.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">He heard footsteps approaching, and not wishing to be noticed, he hunkered down on his haunches, and busied himself with the patch of little yellow flowers beside him.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">The woman had returned. She was visibly distraught, sniffling, speaking to herself in whispers and sobs. He kept to his flowers as she approached the great rock that stood behind him. He glanced her way, but her eyes did not meet his. She paused at the sight of the open rock face, and peered into the barren tomb. He could hear her sharp breaths, and quietly watched as she stepped trembling into the tomb. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">He returned to his flowers with a pensive brow. He knew what she was thinking. ‘They’ve taken him! Oh God! They’ve taken him! Hadn’t he suffered enough? Why strip him even of the dignity of a grave?’ He heard her sobs from the inside of the sepulcher. The yellow faces of the flowers stared back at him, as if pleading to him, “Say something!” </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">Convulsions of sorrow were coming upon her now, and she turned from the open grave, steadying herself against the stone that should have sealed the tomb. Her fingers caressed her lips as she looked to the empty blue sky in despair, and with a last great sob, she buried her face in her hands, and wept.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">“Please!” she said between gasps, her hands pressed mournfully to her face. “Please, if you’ve taken him... If you know where they took him, tell me! I’ll take him! Please!”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">She fell into the stranger’s arms and wept. “Please.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">He took her into his embrace, standing silently. The two of them stood there in the cool of the morning, her head nestled into his chest, both of them aglow with the still rising sun. He smiled when the breeze caught her unkempt hair, tickling his neck so softly. He put his lips close to her ear and whispered a single word. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">“Mary.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">Her eyes shot open in recognition, and she pushed herself away to see his face.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">“Teacher!” she screamed, and took him into her arms so tightly he began to laugh.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">“Oh God! It’s you! It’s you!” she cried, her heart barely believing what she was holding in her arms.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">“It’s me,” he said.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">“Oh, let me hold on to you forever!” she cried.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">“Not yet, Mary. But soon.”</span></span></div>
Chris Whitlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08397211532910336393noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3171896274806599611.post-91035030405296130192013-03-29T12:00:00.000-07:002013-03-29T12:00:02.995-07:00The One Here With Me - Chris Whitler<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkCKbfg0JMDLkuDG7XOZvCRlQjZKO74TjM_j486nvcZ2nMkgfLCKg2JluerOoCZT1QAFS-sd734Y_lX5Cqage67pSmZXR8OpmehwhDP1324zgLu9k9DEpqCPL61UgxGvMsENiiUT__Q5KX/s1600/crucifix-of-damiano-early1200s-wga.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkCKbfg0JMDLkuDG7XOZvCRlQjZKO74TjM_j486nvcZ2nMkgfLCKg2JluerOoCZT1QAFS-sd734Y_lX5Cqage67pSmZXR8OpmehwhDP1324zgLu9k9DEpqCPL61UgxGvMsENiiUT__Q5KX/s400/crucifix-of-damiano-early1200s-wga.jpg" width="273" /></a><br />
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A song for Good Friday<br />
<iframe frameborder="no" height="166" scrolling="no" src="https://w.soundcloud.com/player/?url=http%3A%2F%2Fapi.soundcloud.com%2Ftracks%2F85385644" width="100%"></iframe>Chris Whitlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08397211532910336393noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3171896274806599611.post-29614669373829223092013-02-18T08:15:00.000-08:002013-02-18T08:16:58.459-08:00The Raven Welcomes Dave - Dave Skene<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<iframe frameborder="no" height="166" scrolling="no" src="https://w.soundcloud.com/player/?url=http%3A%2F%2Fapi.soundcloud.com%2Ftracks%2F79785063" width="100%"></iframe>Chris Whitlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08397211532910336393noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3171896274806599611.post-44204960347773205782013-01-30T07:46:00.000-08:002013-01-30T07:46:26.186-08:00Hospitality - Aron Smith<br />
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<span style="font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0px;">As an amateur etymologist, I can’t help noticing that the word </span><i style="font-size: x-large; letter-spacing: 0px;">hospitality </i><span style="font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0px;">contains the word </span><i style="font-size: x-large; letter-spacing: 0px;">hospital</i><span style="font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0px;">.</span><span style="font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0px;"> </span><span style="font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0px;">Checking my big, unabridged dictionary, I see that both words come from the Latin </span><i style="font-size: x-large; letter-spacing: 0px;">hostis</i><span style="font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0px;">, which may refer to a guest, stranger or enemy.</span><span style="font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0px;"> </span><span style="font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0px;">This Latin word is the root of both </span><i style="font-size: x-large; letter-spacing: 0px;">host </i><span style="font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0px;">and </span><i style="font-size: x-large; letter-spacing: 0px;">hostile</i><span style="font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0px;">.</span><span style="font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0px;"> </span><span style="font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0px;">Could it be that all strangers were once seen as enemies, and those who entertained them viewed with suspicion?</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">The dictionary also tells us that while a “guest” is always “welcomed,” this may be either “gratuitously” or “for a fee.” So one may be a guest at a <i>hotel</i> (same Latin root as above), in our homes or even in a hospital (although today we would use the word <i>patient</i>), but in all cases, <i>hospitality </i>is offered in that we are taken in to an establishment belonging to another, and to which we would have no right but for the owner’s largesse or desire to make money.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">My immediate association with the word <i>hospitality </i>is the story of Abraham in Genesis 18:1-8. As the curtain goes up on this drama, we see Abraham sitting at the entrance of his tent in the heat of the day. I’ve always wondered why he was sitting out in the heat, in the middle of the desert, rather than staying inside the tent with Sarah, where the shade must have been cooler. And why wasn’t he working? Was it his day off? Was he so wealthy that he didn’t have to work? We know that he had many servants and flocks and wells, so perhaps he got to relax while his employees did the work.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">I don’t imagine that many people came traipsing through the burning sand, so it must have been something special when three men approached, seemingly out of nowhere. They may have been strangers, but Abraham wasn’t afraid of them. He welcomed them without having any idea who they were or where they came from.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Looking up, he saw three men standing near him. As soon as he saw them, he</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>said, “My lords, if it please you, do not go on past your servant. Let a little</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>water be brought, bathe your feet and recline under the tree. And let me fetch</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>a morsel of bread that you may refresh yourselves, then go on — seeing that</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>you have come your servant’s way.” They replied, “Do as you have said.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">What can we learn from this? To be sure, Abraham did the normal things that we associate with hospitality: He provided food, water and a place to rest. But Abraham went far beyond the provision of these basic necessities. His actions speak volumes about his attitude.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">We are told that Abraham “ran…to greet them.” Imagine that! He actually <i>ran </i>to greet them. These travelers were no mere curiosity to Abraham. He must have felt a deep compulsion to be of assistance to them. He welcomed these visitors not grudgingly, nor out of a mere sense of duty, but with <i>joy</i>. It is obvious that he had great respect for these people who he had never met before, as he bowed down to them and referred to himself as their servant.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">So what did Abraham offer his guests to eat? No mere crust of bread, no peanut butter and jelly sandwich for them. Oh no, Abraham provided these strangers with the best and finest that he had to offer.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Abraham hastened into the tent to Sarah, and said, “Quick, three <i>seahs</i> of</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>choice flour! Knead and make cakes!” Then Abraham ran to the herd,</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>took a calf, tender and choice, and gave it to a servant-boy, who</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>hastened to prepare it. He took curds and milk and the calf that had been</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>prepared and set those before them; and he waited on them under the</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>tree as they ate.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">Instead of serving everyday bread, Abraham had Sarah use <i>choice </i>flour while he himself especially picked out a calf that was <i>tender and choice</i>. Also, curds (similar to yogurt) and milk were considered rich foods fit for special occasions. And Abraham did all this at a moment’s notice, without giving a second thought to the cost.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">The theme of <i>urgency </i>pervades these verses. Abraham <i>hastened</i>, he told his wife to be <i>quick</i>, he <i>ran </i>to the herd and the servant boy <i>hastened </i>to butcher and cook the calf. It seems that Abraham’s conception of appropriate hospitality involved not requiring the travelers to wait for anything.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">Finally, we are told that Abraham <i>waited </i>on the travelers while they ate. Perhaps this means that he kept out of sight so that the visitors could take their time. But I don’t think so. I believe the scriptural reference is to “waiting” in the sense of a restaurant waiter or that of one who is “waited on hand and foot.” In other words, Abraham was attentive to his guests, refilling their plates and water and generally seeing to it that they wanted for nothing.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">Did Abraham know he was providing hospitality to angels? That is a question that has been debated for thousands of years. Ultimately, however, I don’t think it mattered. I believe Abraham would have extended the same courtesy to any travelers who came his way, no questions asked. In other words, Abraham saw a need and he filled it.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Why is it so hard for us to emulate Abraham’s sense of hospitality in the 21</span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><sup>st</sup></span><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"> century? I thought about this recently on a lazy Sunday when my wife and I were enjoying a late lunch in Denny’s down by the freeway. As we were leaving, she told me that she noticed three young kids sitting at the table behind us and that she’d like us to pay for their meals. I quickly agreed; we have often performed such random acts of kindness, and Donna has an uncanny discernment of those in need that has always eluded me. After paying their bill, she walked over to their table and gave each of the three of a ten-dollar bill. She reported that they just stared at her as if they couldn’t believe their amazing good luck. One of them had ordered a cup of coffee; the rest drank water. They had shared a sandwich among them. My wife expressed her opinion that they were probably traveling, most likely on foot. They may have been hitchhiking along the freeway, or they could have been homeless, perhaps preparing to spend the night in one of the makeshift camps beneath a bridge abutment or in an alley between abandoned storefronts. The oldest of them couldn’t have been more than 21 or 22.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">We never did find out what their circumstances were. Donna told me that she wished we could have taken them into our home, let them bathe and wash their clothes, give them a good meal and a cozy place to sleep. How wonderful, I thought. But, she reminded me that, in this day and age, it is unsafe to allow strangers into one’s home. We must help others from a distance, at arm’s length, for who knows if they will harm us, rob us, destroy our home. Sadly, I had to agree.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">I believe that the spirit of Abraham is alive and well, but the realities of modern life have thrown up barriers to properly performing this act of good will. Was the world really so different in Abraham’s time? I like to think not. I don’t believe people have changed that much. Abraham did not know that the strangers traipsing across the sand were not robbers who intended to murder him and Sarah and ravage his herds. He had no idea what their intent was, where they had come from or where they were going. None of that mattered to him. All he knew was that they had arrived and that hospitality was therefore in order.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">Perhaps we need to take a sledgehammer and break down the barriers that stand between us and loving our neighbors as ourselves. Or at least take a chisel and chip away at it, one person at a time. All it takes is one or two people to provide an example to others, to demonstrate that there is nothing to fear but our own prejudices. I only hope I can go out on a limb and be the kind of person I really want to be. I don’t know that I’ll ever get there, but I pray that I will learn to open my heart fully, willingly and without fear, just as our patriarch Abraham did so many centuries ago.</span></span></div>
Chris Whitlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08397211532910336393noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3171896274806599611.post-60345175764700211132013-01-28T16:41:00.001-08:002013-01-28T16:43:30.438-08:00Open The Doors - Patrick Lowry<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizveQJd4NGYQKLyrABX2IGjH9acQ0_x35HVTjiAdyV1gPSCX-NevO8xEjSpVOmRqUNC5TpIrnUJrPRxOAjgngid4KXUoue6mX0Kh5HCK-aYS88NiOvR5pynCgijE72c5bhqFbQ8TrKcQQ/s1600/christian-hospitality.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizveQJd4NGYQKLyrABX2IGjH9acQ0_x35HVTjiAdyV1gPSCX-NevO8xEjSpVOmRqUNC5TpIrnUJrPRxOAjgngid4KXUoue6mX0Kh5HCK-aYS88NiOvR5pynCgijE72c5bhqFbQ8TrKcQQ/s1600/christian-hospitality.jpg" height="320" width="256" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Swing wide the door of welcome</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Friends are calling</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Is to live in love</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Is to live in Christ</span></div>
Chris Whitlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08397211532910336393noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3171896274806599611.post-65571013198931510402013-01-24T07:00:00.000-08:002013-01-24T07:00:08.885-08:00Grand Abundance Out Of Limited Means - Heidi Fox<br />
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<i>Heidi and Justin Fox are city pastors with Rock Harbor church in Southern California. Justin also writes and records good music. You can download his brand new album "The Sound Forgiveness Makes" at his website </i><a href="http://justinfox.bandcamp.com/" target="_blank">http://justinfox.bandcamp.com</a> <i>It's really good!</i></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Justin and I have lived across the street from the Baker St. apartments for over eight years. Although the kids from both sides of the street attend the same school, the racial and cultural divide has felt a mile wide. Ever since moving in, we've prayed about, planned for, and practiced the idea of sharing God's love with these neighbors. We speak very little Spanish (and don't even like spicy food!), and yet God has knit us together with this Latino community in incredible ways. PTA projects, birthday parties, an ESL night called "Share Your English", holiday events, and play-dates have all contributed to deeper friendships and incarnational conversations that have indelibly shaped us this year. After walking out of a restaurant one evening during the summer with our neighbors, they told us this was the first time, in 40 years, that they had ever gone to dinner with a "white couple". They later asked us, "Why do you show us so much love?" Can you imagine the Gospel set-up we were handed in that moment? </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">This year, we have not only seen the power of reaching out, but we've seen the inspiring way our neighbors care for us. We could never attempt to attend every birthday party invite, or every community meal we're offered - there's just too many! My friends from Baker St. are my confidants, my PTA partners, and the absolute hardest working, most joyful people I know. I am humbled by their contentedness, their simplicity, and their family bonds, and I will never get over how generous they are. They are always giving, always serving, and always surprising me. Last week, as the holidays were approaching, I mentioned casually to my neighbors that I had stepped out of my job in Operations at ROCKHARBOR so that I could focus solely on local ministry. I knew money would be tight, but I also had faith that God was in this and that He would provide.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">A few days later my friends said they had a "surprise" and wanted to make sure I'd be home to receive it. I was not prepared for what I saw; a small group on my front porch with grocery bags! The husbands even pitched in to bring it all over, and the gang proudly unpacked their gifts of food, condiments, and treats onto my kitchen counters. A grand abundance out of limited means. I was overwhelmed. I kept asking why they would do this, and everyone's response was, "You guys do so much for us!" This community across the street has encouraged us, inspired us, challenged us, and cared for us, and maybe I have given a lot, but in a deeper way, they have given much more.</span></div>
Chris Whitlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08397211532910336393noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3171896274806599611.post-354200022586168802013-01-15T09:39:00.001-08:002013-01-15T09:39:49.381-08:00¡Qué ejemplo! - Beth Morgan<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<i>Reposted from <a href="http://boredatthebeach.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Beth's blog</a>, a story in Spanish and translated below.</i></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdJkrIiYUlyA46VlBN2wQdxI6s-gl_Y8i4gDiT7z4RJq-qgxhZ9VtWeOwnn_IfIEgAAtLrBBFFQnKg6spQViABkWMpVVnUIdx7E_XD_hX8d53hXaMFg9FqRTpVHQBZ-7DishYNdcfFuoQ/s1600/mite.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdJkrIiYUlyA46VlBN2wQdxI6s-gl_Y8i4gDiT7z4RJq-qgxhZ9VtWeOwnn_IfIEgAAtLrBBFFQnKg6spQViABkWMpVVnUIdx7E_XD_hX8d53hXaMFg9FqRTpVHQBZ-7DishYNdcfFuoQ/s1600/mite.jpg" height="320" width="288" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Ella casi no la ve: la mujer encorvada, cubierta de mantas casi parece como un montón de basura apoyándose contra el café. Es una de las noches oscuras y frías de Winnipeg y ella se ha envuelto la cara con una bufanda. Se ensimisma, pensando en el fin de semana pasado cuando alojó en su casa a una joven misionera. Hacía sólo dos meses que había asistido a la iglesia cuando hicieron un anuncio pidiéndole a alguien que proporcionara una habitación por una noche para una oradora invitada, una misionera, así que ofreció su casa. Sabía que no tenía mucho que ofrecer, pero ella podía ofrecerle su cuarto y así ella compartiría con su hija adolescente.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Ella esperaba que no le importara a la misionera que ella fumaba, que los amigos de su hija fumarían yerba en el balcón, que tenía más gatos de lo que debería. Trataba de hacer algo para cenar, a pesar de que el día sería un día largo de trabajo. Cuando llegó a casa, se dio cuenta que no había tenido tiempo de lavar los platos de ayer, pero no había tiempo para hacerlo ahora ya que había que cocinar algo para la misionera invitada.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Fue una comida sencilla, la conversación fue ligera y somera. Ella se preguntaba si la misionera estaba satisfecha. Observaba que la misionera parecía incómoda.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>(La misionera era alérgica a los gatos; y tenía una aversión fuerte al desbarajuste. A ella no le molestaba la suciedad en los países en vías de desarrollo, pero ella no podía comprender porque esta mujer canadiense se había ofrecido a hospedarla el fin de semana sin haber limpiado la cama. ¡Qué ejemplo de hospitalidad!)</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Actualmente cuando la mujer hospitalaria camina esas calles de Winnipeg, perdida en estas preocupaciones, se recuerda de algunas palabras que una vez leyó:</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Veía cómo los ricos echaban dinero en el arca de las ofrendas. Vio a una viuda pobre, que echó dos monedas de muy poco valor y dijo:</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>— Les aseguro que esta viuda pobre ha echado más que todos los demás. Porque todos los otros echaron como ofrenda lo que les sobraba, mientras que ella, dentro de su necesidad, ha echado todo lo que tenía para vivir.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>La mujer hospitalaria y generosa cruza hacia el montón en la acera, dejar desaparecer su inquietud propia.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">¿Puedo invitarle a un café y un sándwich? — pregunta.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Las dos mujeres se sientan juntas en la acera, se comulgan, comparten historias, comparten sus vidas. Aprenden la una de la otra.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>En el camino de vuelta a su casa desordenada, la mujer hospitalaria reflexiona sobre las palabras de la mujer pobre que llama a las calles, su hogar:</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Cada mañana me levanto y doy gracias al Creador.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>¡Qué ejemplo de gratitud!</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">What an example!</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>She almost doesn't see her; the hunched over woman covered in blankets almost looks like a pile of garbage leaning up against the coffee shop. It's one of those dark, cold Winnipeg nights, where she has her own face wrapped up tight in a scarf. She was also lost in her own thoughts, thinking about last weekend when she hosted a young missionary in her home. She had only been going to church for a couple of months when they made an announcement asking for someone to provide a room for one night for a guest speaker missionary so she offered her home. She knew she didn't have much to offer, but she could offer her bedroom and share with her teenage daughter.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>She hoped that the missionary wouldn't mind that she smoked, that her daughter's friends would probably be doing pot on the balcony, that she had more cats than she probably should. She would try to make something for dinner, even though the particular day would be a long one at work. When she got home she realized she hadn't had time to do the dishes from yesterday, but there was no time to do them now—she had to cook something for the missionary guest.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>It was a simple meal, conversation was light and superficial. She wondered if the missionary was happy. She noticed that the missionary seemed uncomfortable.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>(The missionary was allergic to cats; and she had a strong aversion to clutter. Dirt in the developing world didn't bother her, but she couldn't understand why this Canadian woman would offer to put her up for the weekend, but not take the time to clean off the bed! What an example of hospitality?!)</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Now as the woman walks those Winnipeg streets, lost in those worries, she recalls some words she read once:</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Looking up, he saw the rich putting their gifts into the temple treasury. He also saw a poor widow put in two very small copper coins and said, “I tell you the truth, this poor widow has put in more than all the others. All these others gave their gifts out of their wealth; but she out of her need put in all she had to live on.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>The hospitable and generous woman is now going over to the pile on the sidewalk, leaving her own preoccupation to disappear. “Can I buy you a coffee and sandwich?” she asks. The two women are now sitting together on the sidewalk, communing, sharing stories, sharing lives. Learning from one another.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>On her way back to her disorderly home, the hospitable woman reflects on the words she heard from the poor woman who calls the streets her home: “Every morning I wake up and give thanks to the Creator.” </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>What an example of gratitude!</span></div>
Chris Whitlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08397211532910336393noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3171896274806599611.post-36823343394474394312012-12-20T19:46:00.002-08:002012-12-20T19:46:29.524-08:00I Pray On Christmas - a cover by Jimmy and Ezra<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Merry Christmas from the desert!</div>
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<iframe frameborder="no" height="166" scrolling="no" src="https://w.soundcloud.com/player/?url=http%3A%2F%2Fapi.soundcloud.com%2Ftracks%2F72037077" width="100%"></iframe>Chris Whitlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08397211532910336393noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3171896274806599611.post-30630943138104102712012-12-17T10:06:00.001-08:002012-12-17T10:06:31.607-08:00The Downside of Advent - Mark Barrentine<i><span style="font-size: large;">Note: This reflection by Mark was written before the events last week in Connecticut and should not be taken as a response.</span></i><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">“From the days of John the Baptist until now, the kingdom of heaven has been subjected to violence...” Matthew 11:12</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">Just the other day, I was reflecting on one of the Advent readings from 2 Thessalonians about the “Man of Lawlessness” being revealed before the return of Jesus and considering the implications. I realized- to quote Dark Helmet from Space Balls, “See there’s two sides to every Schwartz.”- that the coming of Jesus isn’t all “Angels We Have Heard on High” and “Silent Night.” Jesus coming, as a baby in a manger or a triumphant king, is accompanied by some pretty dangerous stuff.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">After the Magi came to honor the new born King of the Jews, King Herod had all the baby boys in Bethlehem and it’s vicinity that were 2 years old and younger killed. Herod’s order and the death of untold number of children were pointless, as Jesus had already escaped, but that only adds to the senseless mess and suffering. I wonder how comforting it would have been, if anyone had even been clued in at the time, for a grieving parent to be told “Your son died so that the Messiah could escape to Egypt.” Of course those that believed would have been relieved to a certain degree, but the secular society would have been, “... very put out.” To quote Prince Humperdinck from Princess bride.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">And what does the generation of believers that is alive when the Anti-Christ is revealed have to look forward to? We have statements like Revelation 13:10, “If anyone is to go into captivity, into captivity they will go. If anyone is to be killed with the sword, with the sword they will be killed. This calls for patient endurance and faithfulness on the part of Gods people.” Matthew 24:22 says, “If those days had not been cut short, no one would survive, but for the sake of the elect those days will be shortened.” To quote Daffy Duck as Robin Hood, “Yikes and away!”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">Jesus Christ, the One and Only begotten Son of God, entering into the space-time continuum is a serious affair. We can lose some of that edge, even those of us who believe, when we get distracted by lights, carols, and “... but wait, there’s more!” consumerism. Advent is the time to remember that being a Christian is dangerous at worst, deadly at best and with Jesus Christ in us, our “hope of glory” Like Simba from The Lion King, we can “Laugh in the face of danger. Hahhhahahahh!”</span></span></div>
Chris Whitlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08397211532910336393noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3171896274806599611.post-88156350280093505302012-12-13T07:00:00.000-08:002012-12-13T07:00:01.094-08:00Longing - Beth Morgan<br />
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While oppressed Israel lives for the Messiah's birth</div>
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As a family rounds the finish line of the third trimester</div>
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While a couple hopes to just make it past the first</div>
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As a groom looks for his bride to walk the aisle toward him</div>
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While a woman still dreams of ever one day being a bride</div>
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A world waits with expectant hope</div>
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While a world clings to promises, longing.</div>
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Chris Whitlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08397211532910336393noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3171896274806599611.post-60451931841656202552012-11-29T07:00:00.000-08:002012-11-29T07:00:10.002-08:00Letting Go - James Harrison<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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“How do you pick up the threads of an old life? How do you go on, when in your heart, you begin to understand, there is no going back? There are some things that time cannot mend. Some hurts that go too deep...that have taken hold." -Frodo<br />
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I love Frodo so much. If he wasn't your favorite in the "Lord of the Rings" movies, give him a chance in the books. He is valiant. He accepts his role. He is selfless, and he is lovable. He lets go of the Shire, not once but twice!<br />
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I've said some tearful goodbyes in the last few years, and I've left some wonderful people. The reason those goodbyes were so tearful, and why leaving was so heartbreaking, was because those friends were so good, so wonderful! I wouldn't feel this way if I only knew jerks! But I am so grateful to know such quality people from different states, different countries. They point me to beauty.<br />
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And that's what we're looking for. There was a time where I didn't see a beautiful sunrise or sunset for months. The weather just wasn't right. But I didn't need those, because I had beautiful friends who cared for me, who insisted on the truth about me, and who were persistent to point out the good. We all need to witness beauty to be whole, and I am rich with what I've seen.<br />
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After experiencing these things, plus forgiveness and such satisfying redemption, I see the Father at work. Here and everywhere! And if that's true, then letting go isn't always easier, but it's possible. Because what we're letting go of is beauty, and that can be found Everywhere.<br />
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Frodo left a lot of things and people, but what he came to was a far country of white, sandy beaches, the City-Upon-a-Hill, the Timeless Shores... There's more beauty where we're afraid to find it.Chris Whitlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08397211532910336393noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3171896274806599611.post-68867748560687472262012-11-23T08:26:00.001-08:002012-11-23T08:26:56.312-08:00How Randy Stonehill Saved My Life - Chris WhitlerI wanted to give an audio story a shot, so, if you've got 8 minutes, click the player below and enjoy or you can download and enjoy this on your media player later...<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">From a Stonehill concert here in Modesto last month</td></tr>
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<iframe width="100%" height="166" scrolling="no" frameborder="no" src="https://w.soundcloud.com/player/?url=http%3A%2F%2Fapi.soundcloud.com%2Ftracks%2F68549569?"></iframe>Chris Whitlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08397211532910336393noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3171896274806599611.post-61938474567469825162012-11-15T06:51:00.000-08:002012-11-15T06:51:11.858-08:00One Wonderful Night Sky - Kathryn Hodge<i>This is Kathryn's first submission to the firebowl. She has recently been staff for Youth With A Mission in Winnipeg, MB but is now setting off on new adventures to only God knows where and that's the truth. I saw this story at her personal blog <a href="http://adventuresofkathrynhope.wordpress.com/" target="_blank">The Sometimes Interesting Adventures of Kathryn Hope</a> and thought it would fit in well here. Welcome Kathryn! -Chris</i><div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">Two years ago I went to Mexico for a missions trip. I was there for five weeks, and my team moved around a lot and did lots of different things. There were pros and cons, but that’s not what this is about. One place that we stayed was a migrant camp. The people who lived there had almost nothing, and their homes consisted of one small, dirty room. We had a room of our own to stay in for a day or two. We painted some walls and helped dig/build an outhouse, and there were always kids about to play with. </span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">One delightful evening I went with a friend to one of our little friend’s house. Not too surprisingly we were overwhelmed with her families generosity and hospitality. We were offered cookies and beans and tortillas. All delicious. Her 2-year-old brother and I were fast friends. It all started when he slyly looked at me out of the corner of his eye. We shared treats and played with his toys. For one reason or another my friend and I had to go back to our group. He, of course, followed us. We played chase all the way back. He had quite possibly the best giggle I’ve ever heard in my entire life. </span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">We played until the moon and stars were shining. At one point I picked him up and just held him. We looked up at the night sky and just enjoyed it together. He chattered on and on, pointing here and there to the different stars. I wish that I understood him, but it wouldn’t have made much of a difference. I still loved it all. I loved his excitement and his little laugh. That little boy, with his infectious giggle taught me something. That night I learned how to just be. It was just us and the sky that night.</span></div>
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Chris Whitlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08397211532910336393noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3171896274806599611.post-5311333519618962662012-11-12T15:55:00.001-08:002012-11-13T09:29:01.506-08:00Evening music and pictures - Will Barrow<i>Will is one of the leaders of <a href="http://www.ywampismobeach.org/" target="_blank">Youth With A Mission in Pismo Beach</a>, CA and this is his first submission to the Firebowl. Welcome Will! Will is a husband and father and likes surfing, taking pictures and is a great taco aficionado. He sent in two pictures for your perusal. I'm posting a Bruce Cockburn song for you to enjoy these pictures with...they just seemed to go together. Hit play and have a few minutes of beauty. Chris</i><br />
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<i><br /></i>Chris Whitlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08397211532910336393noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3171896274806599611.post-14679382955268735282012-11-07T09:27:00.000-08:002012-11-07T09:27:18.895-08:00Leggo My Eggo! - Aron Smith<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Wow, “letting go” is such a heavy topic, particularly at this time of year when we head straight into the
joy of the holiday season. I need to go out and buy Halloween candy, I’m trying to figure out which side
of the family will be here with us for Thanksgiving and I just had my vacation days for Christmas week
approved at work. I want to think about sharing my great-niece’s first Christmas. I want to think about
what we’ll do for my parents’ sixtieth wedding anniversary, which is coming up on Christmas Eve. I
want to think about drawing family close to me and showing them how much I appreciate them. So no, I
do not want to think about loss, letting go, the steps of the grieving process or anything of that ilk. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"> And that, of course, is how it happens. Back in the Eocene era, when I was in high school, we used to say
that life is what happens while we’re busy making other plans. I have found that death happens that way,
too. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">About the scariest thing that can happen to us (aside from earthquakes, now that I live in southern
California and have had a taste) is receiving that phone call in the middle of the night. It happened to us
in February of this year. It was about 3 a.m. and I thought I felt my wife’s cell phone vibrate. I didn’t
want to wake her up, so I turned over and tried to go back to sleep. That’s when my own cell phone went
off. And then we had to run about like crazed chickens, throwing clothes into suitcases, making more
phone calls and trying to decide who would do the crying and who would do the driving for the eleven-
hour trip to my wife’s family in northern California. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Wouldn’t it be nice if there were some handy dandy, magic words we could use to comfort someone close
to us who is in so much pain in their time of loss? We get Psalm 23’d to death and nothing seems to help.
After all, your mother and father do not teach you how to do this while you are growing up. Nor is it
taught in high school. A part of our “adult education” is when we discover that being there for support is
all you can really do. Hug everyone, sit down and eat Aunt Mathilda’s casserole. Find a kid to entertain.
Offer to make a pot of coffee. Don’t answer that text from work. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">As bad as the days immediately following a loss are, still harder is saying and doing the right things after
that, when the wife, become a widow, has to deal with an empty house, when the parents can’t bear to
walk by the bedroom of their departed daughter or son, when the vacant chair is matched only by the
vacant hole in our hearts. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I think about all the ways this scenario has played out in my own family, as well as what we may be
facing in the next few years as our loved ones, reaching their seventies and eighties, seem to age before
our eyes. There was one who collapsed in the bathroom while visiting friends. Another who was found
by neighbors who had not heard from him in a few days. Another who fell and broke her hip when no
one else was home and never recovered. Some met their ends in hospitals, others in nursing homes.
Some were taken from us suddenly, some were taken in their sleep, some were taken by ambulance,
screaming siren piercing the night. Others endured a slow decline. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"> Aside from letting go of those who have passed on and helping others to do the same, there is also the
matter of helping others to let go of themselves when “quality of life” wanes. The biologists will tell you
that clinging tightly to life, even in extremis, is a matter of instinct. The medicos say there isn’t much
they can do other than to keep him as comfortable as possible. It becomes harder and harder to drag
ourselves to the nursing home or hospice. That’s not the person we know and love. That’s an empty
shell. There seems to be no connection between the good memories we have and the fourth floor, north
wing, room 258, bed 2. “Sometimes I just wish the Lord would take her,” I hear. I try not to show that I
am horrified, instead putting myself in their shoes for a minute. What if it were my own parent? Don’t
be so quick to judge. Think of those who can never seem to let go, who leave everything in the house just
as it was for decades. Perhaps it is healthy, not horrible, that she is ready to let her loved one go. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"> But what of the patient in the aforementioned bed 2? We may be ready to let go of her, but is she ready to
let go of us? I have heard over and over again of family members standing over hospital beds, holding a
loved one’s hand and saying “It’s okay to let go.” </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"> The cynical part of me thinks there is something very wrong with this. Let me be that person in the
hospital bed for a moment. Did I ask for your permission? Did I raise my hand and say “Mother, may I?”
I’ll go when I’m good and ready, thank you, or when the Lord sees fit to take me. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"> Whoa! Now I’m told that I’m being insensitive. Some say that giving a family member nearing the
end “permission” to let go is an act of love. Perhaps it is. (Warning: Get ready for me to be even more
insensitive.) But I wonder how I would feel about it if I were the one in that bed. Relieved? Maybe, if I
felt that I had to hang on to the bitter end because my spouse or children needed me. But could it be that
the family would simply find it more convenient to achieve some “closure?” (I hate that word). After
all, he’s never going to get better and this is costing a fortune (that I could be inheriting). Why should
he continue to be in pain for nothing? (I feel bad. When he’s gone, I’ll say “at least he’s not in pain
anymore.”) I wouldn’t want to go on living like that. (I’m tired of getting calls from doctors and running
back and forth to the hospital when I have a full-time job and a family to take care of.) </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"> Now that I’ve offended everyone, think about the fact that helping someone to let go is intimately tied up
with our own ability to let go of that person. Indeed, those who are preparing to exit this world often find
themselves in the role of the comforter rather than comforted. It is not unusual for them to try to assuage
the hurt of those who are about to be left behind. Being a fan of country music, I think of the lyrics of the
Patty Loveless song from the ‘90s, “How Can I Help You to Say Goodbye?” </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Sitting with Mama alone in her bedroom </span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">She opened her eyes and then squeezed my hand </span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">She said “I have to go now, my time here is over” </span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">And with her final word she tried to help me understand </span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Mama whispered softly “Time will ease your pain, </span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Life’s about changing, nothing ever stays the same. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">How can I help you to say goodbye? </span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">It’s okay to hurt and it’s okay to cry </span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Come, let me hold you and I will try </span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">How can I help you to say goodbye?” </span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"> In this day and age, however, much of the “letting go” that we find ourselves faced with has nothing to
do with the death of a person. Often, it’s the death of a relationship. Divorce is so common that no one
gives it a second thought anymore. Well, since I started working in the court system, I guess I do. At
least on family law day when the judge stands out in the hall to talk to the children and all of them are
crying because they can’t go live with their drug addict mother. It’s strange how I can watch the most
badass criminals march into court in shackles for felony sentencing and not flinch. But the kids, man,
they get me every time. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"> Letting go in the face of divorce is a tough one. At least when a family member dies, we are not
offended; we know he didn’t do this to hurt us and that he would have lived on if he could have (suicide
being a notable exception). Sure, there are times when divorce is a mutually desirable parting of ways,
but it seems that most often it is the result of one party behaving badly. And that party is usually (but
not always) the man. There are the beaters and the cheaters. One woman is shocked when her husband
comes home from a business trip and announces that he doesn’t want to be married anymore. Another
woman has finally had enough of the verbal, emotional and physical abuse she may have been suffering
for years. However the story goes, the formerly married parties have to make new lives for themselves.
The woman usually ends up with (I almost wrote “gets stuck with,” but that’s my own prejudice) the
children and the result is often dire poverty. Letting go is a difficult proposition indeed when juggling a
combination of done-me-wrong rage and too much month at the end of the money. So let’s make it even
harder. Let’s add joint custody or visitation arrangements to the mix so that you have to see “that man”
when he picks up and drops off the kids every other week. I am reminded of the scene in the movie Mrs.
Doubtfire where Robin Williams is trying to feed his kids take-out Chinese food when his ex-wife shows
up early to pick them up. The bile in the bickering is enough to make one vomit. I suppose there is no
real letting go until the kids turn 18, at least not if there is visitation and child support involved. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"> There is another type of letting go that does not involve the severing of families, at least not directly.
In the current economy, there are those who find themselves laid off from their jobs after working for
the same company for 20 years or more. Even if it hasn’t been that long, losing one’s job often results
in a loss of identity as well as of income. If I’m not a (fill in the blank) anymore, what am I? With the
speedup of globalization in the past fifteen years, if your job takes off for China, India or Mexico, well it
ain’t comin’ back, son. Oh, and unless you live in New York or Los Angeles, good luck finding another
job in your field nearby. You may have to move hundreds or thousands of miles away, or, if family or
financial considerations preclude a move, you may be out of work for a long time and then find that you
have to reinvent yourself entirely if you ever hope to be employed again. Meanwhile, you may harbor
anger at your former employer, anger at the economy, anger at your helplessness to support your family
or even yourself. We know of one divorced mother and her three kids who recently lost their home and
are now living out of their car rather than move and force the children to change schools. What would
that be, letting go of one’s lifestyle? Turning in your membership card in the middle class and embracing
homelessness? Some things I cannot come up with the right words to describe. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"> There are, of course, some lifestyles that we are much better off letting go of. I am thinking of illegal
drugs, hateful substances that kill our children and have become such a scourge in my hometown. I want
to take a big pair of clippers and cut down all those pairs of sneakers hanging from the power lines. And
what do you say, can we start a big bonfire and burn all the methamphetamine in the world? Well, I can
dream, and yes, Lord, I pray to You on this one, because it is going to take a lot more than my pair of
clippers to cut us loose from the destructive habits that have been allowed to encroach on our society.
But we are human, now aren’t we? The flesh is willing but the spirit is weak. Those caught in the web
of drugs seem to have an awfully hard time letting go even when they commit themselves to regaining
clean lives. No struggle with evil is ever easy. It really is true when we say that old habits “die” hard, as
a little piece of us does die when we let go of modes of daily living that have helped to define our lives.
Whether it’s giving up smoking, climbing on the wagon with friends of Bill W. or breaking ties with
habits unrelated to substance abuse (such as committing ourselves to avoiding gossip or to speaking more
kindly to our families), letting go of something to which we are used to clinging represents a sea change
in how we view ourselves and how others view us. Habits quickly become crutches that at first appear
helpful, then comfortable, then essential. Letting go means exiting our comfort zones; falling backward
and knowing that someone will be right behind to catch us is truly a matter of faith. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"> Another reason to “let go” is the unnecessary stress that is added to our lives by the pursuit of foolishness.
True, foolishness is in the eyes of the beholder, yet, as the Bible points out, we have run after folly and
it has profited it us not. We have to keep up with the Joneses, run in the rat race to climb the corporate
ladder so we can buy our kids the latest and the greatest instead of spending time with them. We can’t
seem to let go of things, mere things, inanimate objects. Things become status symbols and we have
increasing difficulty in distinguishing between wants and needs. Back in the 80s, I never put any stock in
Reagan’s drivel about Welfare queens driving Cadillacs, but today I encounter very poor people sporting
the latest iPhone. We have allowed our possessions, like our jobs, to define who we are. This makes it
all the more difficult to let go and pursue instead things that are real, like family and community. In my
teenage years, when frozen waffles were increasing in popularity, I used to laugh at a TV commercial
in which family fights over the toaster ended with the refrain “Leggo my Eggo!” Even at the breakfast
table, family harmony cannot prevail, for we must fight for what is rightfully ours, even down to a lousy
frozen waffle. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"> I have heard it said that everyone lives in his or her own private hell. I believe this thinking reflects
our culture of individuality and fails to acknowledge that, at bottom, we are all the same, all God’s
children. All of us have basic needs and all of us want to be able to provide for our families. Another
thing common to all of us is that every type of bondage can be broken, as difficult as it may seem. I don’t
know if I will ever find the inner strength to finally bid adieu to my own bad habits. But I do dream of
the day that I let them go like so many balloons and watch them float away into the sky until they fade out
of sight among the clouds.</span>Chris Whitlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08397211532910336393noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3171896274806599611.post-29348472577165087322012-11-05T11:07:00.000-08:002012-11-05T11:07:57.337-08:00Insights from Dog-walking - Beth Morgan<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjToFhoIhf2-SMp_P5fjRyxKi92TUE5ity5j6q05ia6l_GzS6gE-I0gnlc_TdcCR7hSGtJhq4VSObiowpJiLB_ERrzXCXDpvr5nez9rc_eMccjclu6paKsoAlg0WlvnctDvKXFb8uz99RA/s1600/hike+with+Alanna+and+Riley.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjToFhoIhf2-SMp_P5fjRyxKi92TUE5ity5j6q05ia6l_GzS6gE-I0gnlc_TdcCR7hSGtJhq4VSObiowpJiLB_ERrzXCXDpvr5nez9rc_eMccjclu6paKsoAlg0WlvnctDvKXFb8uz99RA/s1600/hike+with+Alanna+and+Riley.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo by Alanna Martin</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">At the moment, “letting go” looks like giving up control, trusting my Master to lead. For the last few months I have been fostering a dog (who's still waiting for his “forever home”) and wow, has it been an adventure! Riley is a coonhound+Aussie cattle dog who was a stray—used to wandering about, wherever his nose takes him. He wants so badly to be free to chase squirrels and rabbits which is certainly quite natural to his breed, but of course, he is being “trained” and this is not allowed. Besides, Riley doesn't really get the dangers of vehicles, so letting him run free in town would not be wise. Riley will pull and pull, even though it hurts his neck, and I will hold him back, as difficult as it is to do so. Sometimes he will try to run on ahead, sometimes he will go off to the side (especially to sniff people's recycling bins) and sometimes he will lag behind trying to scavenge something nasty from the earth that will probably make him sick. I often feel very frustrated and wish he would just listen more; his pulling can even hurt me, especially if we're going down a slippery hill or if he's all tangled around me. But then there are times, especially lately since he knows and trusts me more, when he will listen, when he will trot along beside me, ignoring all of the tempting things off in the distance. In these times I will tell him what a good boy he is and sometimes even give him treats.</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I don't really know if God gets frustrated with me when I continually try to run on ahead, take control or create my own way. I do know that His words patiently continue to reach me and shed some light on the path.</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">“I could hold on to who I am and never let You change me from the inside...but You have called me higher, You have called me deeper and I'll go where You will lead me, Lord.” (by All Sons and Daughters, but here's my little cover version...)</span></div>
<object height="81" width="100%"> <param name="movie" value="https://player.soundcloud.com/player.swf?url=http%3A%2F%2Fapi.soundcloud.com%2Ftracks%2F66243642&show_comments=true&auto_play=false&color=ff7700"></param> <param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param> <embed allowscriptaccess="always" height="81" src="https://player.soundcloud.com/player.swf?url=http%3A%2F%2Fapi.soundcloud.com%2Ftracks%2F66243642&show_comments=true&auto_play=false&color=ff7700" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="100%"></embed> </object> <span><a href="http://soundcloud.com/chris-whitler/called-me-higher">Called Me Higher</a> by <a href="http://soundcloud.com/chris-whitler">Chris Whitler</a></span>Chris Whitlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08397211532910336393noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3171896274806599611.post-87609360598474840662012-11-01T10:53:00.000-07:002012-11-01T10:53:09.819-07:00At Rest - Shelly Wason<i>Today is All Saints Day and a good day to introduce a new focus in the firebowl. The next few posts are all about "letting go". Thanks to Shelly Wason for getting us started with this image. You can see more of Shelly's photography at </i><a href="http://aninspiredlens.com/">http://aninspiredlens.com</a><br />
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<br />Chris Whitlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08397211532910336393noreply@blogger.com0