I’m not Rob Bell. But I get it. I think.
I’m paving this
road
each brick
a good intention;
desperate….
I reach
The destination
I seek.
I find a door
where I began this journey
at the very first brick I paved.
A sign
it says “only by me”
and I notice in the corner, a small
hand written add on
“with authenticity”.
Unsettled Grace, again…
I rest upon God’s mighty hand,
as an infant, as a man.
I wonder, God, What is to be?
Why? I wonder, why choose me?
Dearest Father, Loving King,
I don’t know how to cope with these things.
Guidance, you ask?
Yes.
That would be nice,
Until then Lord, prayer is my vice.
I dream in your mighty hand, my God,
Of a day that will come to be…
I see in a distant future; a day in eternity.
I dream to know you, as you have known me.
I dream away worries
I dream away tears;
I rest in an Unsettled Grace
you really are here.
American lifestyles of the midwest mediocrity… meet Tables For Hope.
They were finally there! This was the destination they flew half-way across the world and had long been preparing for. Travelling through Addis Ababa, conditions much more desolate than their American experience had them accustomed to, they entered the orphanage they had so longed to see. Their hearts filled with hope for what good they could do here….
Inside, there was a boy. He had been in his bed for three days. His leg… broken, and there was no way to fix it. Already, this missions group was aware of how they would come up short on this trip. Our American mentality makes us believe we can do all things, anything, anytime. Unfortunately, out of our element this doesn’t include anywhere…. here… you can check out the orphanage:
http://www.olivet.org/?page_id=138
They came back with stories for the church that sent them. Yes! They had done so much, but their hearts were filled with even more hope now than before they’d gone. I’ve spoken with missionaries before, and it always amazes me how they come back with a deeper sense of needing to help, and a higher credit limit of hope for the people who need it… They simply knew, they must do more. They MUST send medical supplies and personnel. Rumblings of Tables for Hope began:
That was where I became involved. They are making a gourmet dinner and asked if I could help create the dessert. Something fancy, something special. Those of you who read this blog know I’m up for crazy feats.
The dinner is June 2. I just can’t get this image of this boy out of my head. I’m sure his leg has healed by now. I find it so surreal that making 300 plus chocolates with decadent fillings will actually help this or any other child that lives across the world.
American lifestyles of the midwest mediocrity… meet Tables For Hope.
I know that this fundraiser needs to sell out… So here I am… Doing more… I know you may not be reading from Fargo, or may not be able to attend, but please, consider contacting this church… Olivet Lutheran 701- 235- 6603 and ask how you too, can donate to the Tables For Hope event… it will change a child’s life.
the adequate response is…
I’m walking home. I don’t understand the mess I just witnessed.
A man I admired, loved and looked up to… a man I was convinced was sent by God himself was tortured and murdered in the street… and it seemed like everyone was OK with this?!?! How could I possibly stand up against the masses?
A man joined us… still reeling from our thoughts about the chaos… we shared with him, about the man who was just brutally killed. By the end of the day, my companion and I broke bread with the very man who had died.
I commonly hear people discuss about how shameful it was for Jesus’ disciples to deny him, to turn him over to authorities… but what about this journey back home? When I put myself into the position of watching the crucifixion, I can actually view with compassion that there really wasn’t much anyone could have done… besides the fact that it needed to happen to fulfill scripture.
I think what happens, now, after his death and resurrection, is more telling of the nature of the disciples…. and us. They had been witnesses to the greatest story to ever be told. Would they go on to tell it? Would they be safe to tell it? Do you feel safe to share it?
