It seems that this life that we have chosen, that many have chosen before us, never comes with any “fine print” to read. There is no full disclosure, no rigid job description, nor is there any guarantee of what this world would consider to be success.
The price is high, missions is costly in every way. On our most recent podcast I share about the price we have to pay when it comes to being obedient to the call. http://www.podbean.com/media/share/pb-cni94-942e1b
Isaiah 8:11 ERB “The Lord spoke to me, like a firm grasp of the hand.”
Life is hard, but God’s heart for us is “very tender.” If we can have the faith to trust His tender heart for us, we can do anything He requires of us. Most of the time the directions He gives are things that will pull us away from what is comfortable or convenient.
The vision needs a welcome.
The Kingdom of God isn’t at all as it seems to be.
Today I’m connecting with our podcast Africa & Beyond and talk about traveling with 13 bags. Can you relate? Enjoy! https://www.podbean.com/media/share/pb-d6kxt-8ab38c http://www.podbean.com/media/share/pb-d6kxt-8ab38c
This time of year, we take part in a fast. It’s always a very meaningful time where we push back and set our minds on our relationship with the Lord and what He has planned for us in the coming year. It’s kind of a reset button that helps us keep our ears and hearts open to God’s voice. No one enjoys the physical process of fasting, but the benefits far outweigh the discomfort. At home, we’ve always encouraged (never forced of course) our young children to give up, or fast, certain activities (TV and other forms of media for example) or unnecessary snacks for a period of time. Our youngest is an avid potato chip fan – she knows most of what’s available here and panics when the chip stash runs low. This year, she has laid down the chips and has somehow enjoyed the sacrifice. Of course it’s not a full chip fast but it’s precious nonetheless! One
Our service to people isn’t based on their merits or their appreciation of our call to serve God.
When I was a teenager, my mother would often send me to the neighborhood grocery store for a gallon of milk. She would ask me in the afternoon after I had gotten back from school. Since this was in my pre-drivers license days, I would get on my bicycle and peddle the 10 minutes to get the gallon of milk. This wasn’t, by any stretch of the imagination, my preferred chore. The milk would quickly become heavy, the plastic bags were useless and would tear on the way home. I would end up holding the milk in one hand and steer with the other. Sometimes the change would fall to the ground, other times my bicycle’s chain would fall off, and often I’d find myself walking home with the milk in one hand and pushing the bike home with the other. Under the hot Florida sun, I would find myself figuring out how I could avoid another gallon-of-milk bicycle run.
