faith

Having faith is difficult.

We Christians like to surround ourselves with cliches and platitudes, like: "trust in God's timing" and "God controls the outcome" and "all things work together for the good of those who love God." Theologically, we know that God is sovereign and that he controls all things: he controls us in sickness and in health, in wealth and poverty, in good times and bad. And yet, so often the theologically correct answers leave the heart wanting.

Faith for those of us who do ministry can be especially hard -- at least, that's my experience. So much of what we do is directly reliant on God working on our behalf. We are necessary for the work but not sufficient for it. In fact, we're inadequate for it. As a student leader for Intervarsity (and now as a staffworker) I feel like I'm constantly living in this tension of being used for the work but being a crooked, broken tool. All too often, I see ministry failure that seems to be clearly my fault -- due to my sin, or laziness, or inadequacy. And yet the times of joyful, life-altering success I know I can't take credit for! They're the work of the Holy Spirit.

Is that what there is for us who work with the gospel? Grief for our failures, and joy for God's successes? In doing ministry I've come to really understand what it means to be a "jar of clay." God's goal for (all of us) those of us in ministry is not to use us for a specific task or to accomplish a certain end: his goal is spiritual transformation. He wants to make us more like Jesus. Because what people need is not an abstract set of theological truths, or a two-year strategic growth plan, but a relationship with Christ, who loves us.

And that can be hard for me to learn; I'd say it's taken 22 years and 4 months so far, with no sign of letting up soon. I want "it" to be all about me, even ministry. I want to be the staff with the goals and chapter growth (and prove my worth); I want to be the fundraiser who gets funded super-quickly (and proves my worth); I want to be the awesome speaker who changes students' lives. But what I see again and again is my own inadequacy and my own failures getting in the way, like a garden filled with weeds. And the wedding process is long, and difficult, and painful. So do I have faith in God pulling through?

lessons from america's pastime

I love sports. The excitement, the emotion, the drama. Pretty much any sport will do it for me, though I do have my favorites. Baseball is probably the sport I love the most. A lot of people don't understand that. I'll readily admit that it's probably not the most exciting (football) or glamorous (basketball) sport. But it's my favorite. I fell in love with the Cubs in the early 2000s during the (too brief) Pryor-Wood era, and again in 07 and 08.

The last two years have been rough on my poor Cubbies, but I haven't lose that initial thrill. I love stats, trade rumors, Pat (not Ron) on the radio, and Len and Bob. When you follow a team for 162 games a summer, you always feel like you get to know the players and the coaches a little bit. There's a sense of camaraderie among the fans that other sports lack, too...the games are more relaxed and social. And we all share a LOT of suffering over the course of the season.

But baseball's about the long hall. It's about consistently grinding it out and being disciplined and self-motivated. Some days you bat .600 and drive in a bunch of runs. Some days you go up to the plate and strike out every time. Baseball is about a long obedience in the same direction. It's a journey, not a destination.

You can probably see were I'm going with this. Baseball is like fundraising! I've been thinking about this a lot this summer, and I'm making this comparison half in jest and half in seriousness. Fundraising requires discipline and dedication. You have to grind it out over a long period of time. You have to sell your supporters on a compelling vision (winning the World Series!) and convince them that you can make that vision reality with their help.

Batters hate to strike out. But what a lot of people don't know if they don't follow baseball is there are two different kinds of strikeouts. There's a swinging stirkeout, where the batter swing but just misses the ball and strikes out. But there's also a looking (or called) strikeout. In those, the batter doesn't swing but the pitch is called a strike and he's out anyway.

I've been learning that it's always better to take a swinging strike. Fundraising involves a lot of strikeouts. I've certainly had my fair share (more than my fair share, sometimes it feels like). But recently instead of chickening out on calls I've made them expecting rejection. And you know what? It's not that bad. It doesn't feel that bad at all. And I'm encouraged by knowing that I tried.

what are you looking for?

I spent the last 10 days at Orientation for New Staff with InterVarsity Christian Fellowship. We spent the time being trained in fund development, partnership, evangelism, multiethnicity, and how to do the many jobs of a campus staffworker.

Some of the highlights for me personally were visiting the national headquarters, talking baseball with the president Alec Hill, making fundraising calls together one night, and of course finally learning 6-handed euchre.

I'm inspired by the bold history we have here at InterVarsity. We are a movement built on the boldness, faithfulness, and courage of very special men and women of God. I stand in the shadows of these giants, a person blessed by their ministry and obedience. I feel encouraged, but also ashamed. I often feel I'm so utterly unworthy to serve God. I can't fundraise. I don't disciple well. I'm not bold in evangelism.

Last night we had a time of extended worship and God really met me with conviction and blessing. I'm reminded again of my desperate need for God and my all-consuming desire to be where he is.

Living and fundraising on my own has been so tiring these past 6 months. I've had no comfort, no closeness, and little spiritual life to speak of. Circumstances and my own sin have combined and I've had so few success in following God -- both in fundraising and in my own spiritual life. I have no community, no accountability, and by myself I am too weak to follow God. I've doubted the presence of God in my life.

But there's Jesus. And there's no one like Jesus. Hakuna mungu kama wewe. Palibe ofana ndi yesu.

Tonight I was feeling really down right after dinner, and I'm not sure why. I've been jealous of the presence of God in the lives and ministries of others lately. I've been bitter and angry, mostly at myself. And that's so disgusting. But I think a lot o what my mysterious emotion was was a fear of what will happen when I'm back home. This week I've felt like I could take on the world with God at my side. Next week, will I wonder if he's even there?

I'm reminded of the verse in the NT that describes how the Holy Spirit prays on our behalf when we don't know the words to pray. Spirit, will you pray through me? I'm frayed, broken, and heartsick instead of joyful and inspired. Will you restore my spiritual health and heal my physical tiredness? Will you protect me from the devil who is trying to undermine all the good work you've done already?

With red eyes, what are you looking for?
With red eyes, red eyes

(in this needle and haystack life
i've found miracles there in your eyes
it's no accident we're here tonight
we are once in a lifetime)

an open letter to money

Dear Money,

We're not the best of friends, right now. I've started to really resent you, and the attitude everyone has about you. True, there are still people you haven't quite corrupted yet. But for the most part it seems like you have everyone inside your nasty green-fingered grasp. I'm no exception; I believe it's been quite some time since I last gave any of my money away, for example. Actually, it hasn't been that long, but my check bounced and I was instantly pissed at myself for giving as much as I did. Whoops!

Last night I was talking over my IV budget with my parents and comparing my monthly income with expected monthly expenditures. I had considered not putting a line in to avoid arguments, but thought it might be a good opportunity to talk to my parents about my attitude towards money and make it into a witnessing moment. Instead, they got really mad at me. My dad thinks I shouldn't give any money away at mall. My mom argued that I didn't have to give away 10% anymore (I *know* that...but decided not to explain that I felt like that was a minimum).

It just frustrates me. So many people in the world live on so little, we have no right to get as uptight as we do about money in the US. The stats on Christian giving make me sick. It disgusts me that we give so little percentage wise, but it looks like a lot because we were born with more money than anyone else. I hate that whenever we *do* give money, the donors and the charity-givers become heroes and saviors.

Oh, well, money. We certainly can't break up, because I know I can't live without you. But man, this relationship is awkward right now.

Greg

why i loved cfw

If you don't know, CFW (Chapter Focus Week) is InterVarsity's annual end-of-the-year training camp for students at Cedar Campus in Michigan. Students flee to the Upper Peninsula for a week after finals to rest, recreate, be trained, and make space for God.

This year, rather than going with my peers and being trained to reach U of I, I went up to staff the week and spend time getting to know the students I'll be working with next year at SIU-Carbondale. And my conclusion: they're such a good bunch of kids. I was involved in training students to lead Bible studies during the week; spent time with them praying and worshiping; stayed in the same cabin as my students (which led to getting pranked at least three times); and got to spend time hiking and playing volleyball with the kids God is preparing me to minister to next school year.

I loved it. Absolutely loved it. I only spent one week with them, and I know no chapter is perfect, but the SIU chapter feels like a breath of fresh air. They are students with a deep, living faith that informs everything they do. They are the most missional bunch of students I've ever met. They are vulnerable and honest with each other. And God is doing a mighty work in their midst -- their chapter has doubled in size, reached out to so many non-Christians, and the chapter seems poised for even more growth and outreach.

Honestly, it was like a breath of fresh air. I spent my last semester in InterVarsity leadership extremely frustrated. My spiritual community was a mess. I had a vision for outreach that I thought God had given me but that few other people seemed to value. Most people involved in my little section of IV turned their back on our mission, and among those who didn't it seemed like they were having a different spiritual crisis every week. I constantly felt worn down, exhausted, and hopeless -- and really hurt, as numerous times a few people would do or say things to others in our community that were like slapping me in the face. And I was constantly frustrated by leadership structures that strangled the vitality out of my faith.

So many of the values that I missed and longed for in Allen Hall are present in the SIUC chapter. I was floored even just by the way they pray for each other. It felt like God was taking that week to say to me "Greg, that desire you had to see a witnessing community was right and valid. I am who you thought I was (and so much more, but we'll save that for later). I did call you to student ministry." So many of the doubts I've been having vanished in the sunlight of Michigan (it was 70 there all week! I wore shorts!)

every tribe, every tongue, every nation
hallelujah, he reigns

hallelujah, every breath is a second chance

Alright God,

So here's what I need. I need a big week to encourage me in fundraising. I need a big week to remind me why I was so confident you were calling me to IV staff. I need to be reminded that You are at work far more than I am, and that this whole thing is about Your mission, Your plan, and Your love for me. That it's not about me.

And by "big week" I don't mean I want a week where you bring in hundreds of dollars (though that would be AWESOME). I mean I need a big helping of your strength. I can't do fundraising on my own anymore. I need your voice, your encouragement. I need you to help me make calls and deal with both rejection and acceptance. I need your presence.

Amen.

hallelujah, i'm caving in
hallelujah, i'm in love again
hallelujah, i'm a wretched man
hallelujah, every breath is a second chance

word, yo.

This year Easter kind of snuck up on me. I mean, I knew it was coming obviously. I can read a calendar. But it seemed – spiritually insignificant. My relationship with God has been lacking (non-existent?) of late, and so Easter did not bring joy and thankfulness and worship. I basically ignored Holy Week (spent it flaking on fundraising). My Lent sacrifice had lasted all of 5 days, I think.

My ideas of the resurrection this year were really strongly influenced by all the thinking I’ve been doing about the Incarnation since Urbana. The Word of God put on flesh and moved into my neighborhood. It’s been such a powerful idea for me for the last couple months. The far-off King of the Universe decided to come near to all of us, and to me.

I remember the art piece from Urbana with the tap dancing and spoken word. It’s such an awesome illustration of the Incarnation. I think of God’s work in my life as this constant rhythm now. Can I hear it? Sometimes more clearly than others. Sometimes not so much, like this past month.

But any understanding of the Incarnation is incomplete without Easter. God moved into our block not only to be with us, but to die for us. Wow. And then he rose from the dead. And so did we.

story

Lost is my favorite TV show. It's a lot of fun to watch and talk about, but mostly the characters and the heart and depth of their story really connects to something in me. The clip above comes from last nights episode.

Ben is probably one of the darkest characters on Lost. He's done a lot of bad things and sacrificed a lot of people to have control. If anyone is beyond redemption in a show that specializes in redemptive character arcs, it's Ben. That's why the scene above is so powerful to me. It shows that Ben -- the manipulator, the schemer, the "bad guy" -- is *not* above redemption.

Locke is the current bad guy; "evil incarnate" according to one of the characters. And Ben is so lost and desperate that he feels like he has to join Locke because no one else will accept him. The look on Ben's face when Ilana welcomes him (somewhat less than enthusiastically) is just heartbreaking for me. (I mean, come on, this scene is superbly acted). It reminds me of my story of faith; my struggles with depression and low self-esteem. I always thought no one would accept or love me because of the ugliness inside me.

I just finished Don Miller's newest book on the power of story. I think a lot of what he says is right and true; about people wanting to live stories that matter. Ultimately the stories I love the most are the character pieces; the redemptive ones. Christ offers us all an opportunity to be a part of a redemptive character arc. It's an opportunity I eagerly grasp.

mark 3:7-19

Jesus withdrew with his disciples to the sea, and a great crowd followed, from Galilee and Judea and Jerusalem and Idumea and from beyond the Jordan and from around Tyre and Sidon. When the great crowd heard all that he was doing, they came to him. And he told his disciples to have a boat ready for him because of the crowd, lest they crush him, for he had healed many, so that all who had diseases pressed around him to touch him. And whenever the unclean spirits saw him, they fell down before him and cried out, “You are the Son of God.” 12 And he strictly ordered them not to make him known.

And he went up on the mountain and called to him those whom he desired, and they came to him. And he appointed twelve (whom he also named apostles) so that they might be with him and he might send them out to preach and have authority to cast out demons. He appointed the twelve: Simon (to whom he gave the name Peter); James the son of Zebedee and John the brother of James (to whom he gave the name Boanerges, that is, Sons of Thunder); Andrew, and Philip, and Bartholomew, and Matthew, and Thomas, and James the son of Alphaeus, and Thaddaeus, and Simon the Cananaean, and Judas Iscariot, who betrayed him.

There's an image in my head of the huge crowd. People are coming to Jesus because of their desperate need. For many it's physical healing, but I imagine there are some in the crowd who are looking for spiritual healing. I identify a lot with this crowd. I feel like lately though I've been hiding on the outside of the crowd. I've come to see Jesus, but I'm not actively fighting my way through the crowd to be near him. I've got problems, but maybe he can't see me in the crowd or has some other lesson to teach me. Or maybe I'm just not trying hard enough to reach him.

Part of me feels like I should identify with the second part of the passage. I mean; I'm a missionary, right? Jesus has supposedly chosen me to teach people and preach the gospel to them. I'm supposed to have this grand sense of mountaintop calling (and I have at time!). But when I've sat at 13% for weeks; when I've heard a lot of surprising "can'ts" but no exciting "wills"; I feel more and more like someone on the fringes of the crowd.

Jesus, I'm longing for your presence. But I have to confess too that I know I'm not working for it. I can't live each day with calling and spiritual self-initiative. I'm struggling to make it through each night of phone calls and each period of discouragement.

I know you're faithful. This I believe. And I know that you have timing, and a plan, and things to teach me and make me in your image. I know that it's good and it will be worth it -- like many of the other hard times I've gone through recently. In fact, I love those times because they brought me more of you. But right now I don\'t feel that reality; I just feel like I'm struggling out here on my own.

Is it right or okay to ask for comfort and encouragement about my fundraising right now? Would you provide some? It will be in your own time and way, and this I'm glad for because the last thing you need to do is to answer the needs I feel rather than the ones I have. But you know that, don't you? That's what Malawi was all about.

life, unfiltered

Sitting in the crowd at Urbana 2009, I knew that I wanted to do cross-cultural missions. I didn't -- I still don't -- know exactly how or in what context. I love InterVarsity; and I love working with and seeing Jesus transform students. I want to do that for a long, long time. But my experience in Malawi -- the way God met and changed me there -- lit something in me that I can't deny is still there and probably will be for a long time.

It's; I don't know, it's a host of things. Seeing and sharing Christ with people of other cultures, and learning to be humble learners. Something I said before my trip, but was always only a buzzword or right attitude for me has now become completely true. I long to be part of a team that does life together in a certain way as well; the juxtaposition of our Malawi team with the Pangani community is still something that haunts me (in a good, "I won't settle for less again" kind of way).

Community is always tricky for me. At my heart I want what everyone else does: a community where I can be transparent with all my faults and brokenness. As I am slowly learning to allow myself to accept the broken me (and learn to accept it in others), I long to find a place where I'm the "Greg that God is healing" instead of the "Greg that God has already fixed, saved, trained, etc." This calling is to a frustrating, messy, painful sort of community life but one I long for. We become like Jesus in our relationships to others, not to abstract ideas or theology. At least, mostly. And that's what I want -- the sense of doing life together, of growing together, of sharing the stories God is writing in our lives.

There are so many different reasons I got into ministry. Calling. Responsibility. Pride. Selfishness. Ultimately, finally, it's because Jesus loves me and is working in me. As I grow in faith, I see more and more how broken I am and how beautiful the redemption that I already have is. I want to be near Him, to be becoming like Him, and to share Him with others. He's so good, I can't keep Him to myself.

I don't know if I feel called to long-term cross-cultural missions (at least, not yet). But I do want to regularly spend time pursuing God in other contexts and cultures, and learning to receive from His followers the same way I hope students will receive from me at SIU. Maybe I'll (help) lead global projects -- that seems like something I'd really be interested in and would be a good fit. Of course, that would be at *least* two or three years from now -- and two years ago I certainly hard no plans to go on InterVarsity staff. So, we'll see what God says in the meantime.

extravagant

This is a love letter. It's sappy. You are forewarned.

I hate the winter. It's cold and yucky. Snow seems so nice initially, but it soon turns to sleet, slush, and dirty ice. It's a pain to travel and going anywhere takes lots of preparation: bundling up, warming the car, shoveling the driveway, wiping off the windshield...it never really ends. Winter's easily my least favorite season.

For a long time my heart was frozen over. I remember struggling with depression in high school because I considered myself completely unlovable. Who would want to love fat, ugly, unpopular me? It seemed a lot of time like no one did, least of all God. I wrapped myself up in that identity like an ugly, foul-smelling blanket. If I didn't expect anyone to love me, it wouldn't hurt when they didn't. When God didn't.

I ended up unable to feel anything, except hurt and anger. As my faith grew, I accepted the fact that God loved me. It said so in Scripture, my teachers said it was true, all the songs I sang proclaimed it, so I had to believe it. But this fact was firmly head knowledge. I never felt the presence of God in my life. I worshiped because I had to; I almost never meant the words. I struggled with feeling guilty because I didn't experience certain emotions during worship, like everyone around me seemed to. I wondered if the people in my area -- my supposed Christian community -- even liked me.

At SLT, I pleaded with God to show me that he actually did love me. For so long I was terrified to ask that question, because I was terrified about what I would hear in response. And at the time, I had what seemed like an answer from God -- and though it was not completely satisfying, it was enough for me then.

But God had much more in store.

In 2009, everything changed for me. I started to learn to trust and love the people around me -- a few close friends. Then I learned to love the people I ministered to. God taught me what it was like to serve out of love and not duty, maybe for the first time.

God started to pull up the weeds in my life. I remember when the first one came out. Near the end of the semester I was irrationally upset because no one had come to some events I had tried to recruit to. Obviously, this proved that I was right -- they didn't like me; or appreciate me; or approve of me. And God felt the same way. For the first time I was able to confess these feelings to a friend and out loud to God.

In Malawi, God pulled up even more. I came face to face with insecurities, weakness, and sin, as God showed me some of the ugliest part of myself while still telling me "I love you." [sorry all that happened around you, teammates ;)] All that work continued -- intensified -- when I came back. Someone told me that I was "very unGreg" during that time; but I think I was myself for the first time. I was no longer the tightly controlled person I usually am. I was at the mercy of my emotions, like I usually try to avoid. It was painful. Sometimes it seemed like God had only opened my heart up in the spring to rip it to shreds.

God reached me in a song. God reached me through the gospel of Matthew. God talked to me in prayer. He used an image of Cody -- my adorable dog -- to tell me how simply and powerfully He loved me. It's silly, I know; I don't care.

I used to not really know what it meant to be loved; I probably still don't. But I finally know that God loves me. And not just "love" in the sense of that overused, cliche, "I love my new shoes," valentine's day, over-saturated word. I have a God who wants me. He longs for me; He is jealous for me;; he thinks of me as a prize. He turned my life upside down to tell me.

I finally understand. We studied Jonah in August and I remember how Trever talking about how calling means suffering. I experienced that a lot last semester and in Malawi. Sometimes I do ministry or serve others out of good motives; because I want to follow Jesus and because He definitely deserves it. More often I do it because I am loved by Jesus and I desperately want to be near Him. God's calling is a calling to mission and to suffering; I welcome both with open arms. Paul said, "Next to knowing Christ I count everything as loss." I finally understand, because palibe ofana ndi yesu. There is no one like Jesus.

For me, that's enough.

I can feel you all around me
Thickening the air I'm breathing
Holding on to what I'm feeling
Savoring this heart that's healing

Take my hand, I give it to you
Now you own me, all I am
You said you would never leave me
I believe you; I believe

partnership

Fundraising is a curious thing. There are a lot of contradictions in it; at least, that's how it seems to me now.

For example: it both is and isn't about me. It's not about me because it shouldn't be. It's about the mission of God and the ministry to the students at Carbondale. I can't make myself too important in my own eyes - too put together or perfect. When I do, I start to worry about why people won't DONATE TO ME. Or I start to get confident in my training and skills and plans and not the power of Jesus. I start to get trapped in my own narrative of what's important: staff, me, my budget, my gifts. It's not about me.

But it IS about me! The money I raise is my salary and goes to train and equip me to be on campus; it reflects my unique skills and the gifts I bring to the table. I also have numerous donors who give or will give because they like *me.* So there's that same pressure from Malawi -- to have a plan and a strategy; to be worth the financial investment people make on my behalf. To earn their approval and respect.

More and more I am reminded that humility and brokenness are the ways of Jesus. I saw clearly this semester, this summer, that all my skills and training usually end up less valuable than Jesus changing my life. When I was honest with my doubts and struggles and my relationship with God -- THOSE were the times I was a blessing.

I'm so glad God called me to Malawi. More and more I see what He did it for -- not only in the great breaking and healing He did in me there, but in the way He used it to prepare me for fundraising. I realize that I shouldn't make it overly about me. I shouldn't strive to earn God's (or donors!) approval. I shouldn't approach from a 'donor/aid' perspective but from that of a humble partner. Or servant?

Intervarsity (as much as I love it) is not the sum of God's kingdom, and I am to the tool of His mission. Ultimately this is about God's love for me. It transforms me. Friends: what people need is Jesus, and he's transforming us to be like him.

heritage

What's my spiritual heritage? I've been thinking about that a lot the past few days. We've been discussing culture and heritage so much and I feel like I'm missing out on such a deep sense of familiarity, and connectedness, and identity.

I can't look to my family for spiritual heritage. My family took me to church...but only me. Or, at least, it only stuck with me. I don't have any great family history of spiritual ancestors or anything like that. My family is a place of brokenness, hurt, anger and sin.

I've never really felt like I can look to my culture, either. I'm developing some sense of cultural identity; and growing a lot in how I relate and love cross-culturally. I definitely have some cultural heritage: we're basically swimming in theologians, hymn authors, church founders, and missionaries. But for far too long my people has played a leading role in causing division and hate between groups. There's another way, and I'm seeing hints of what it is: to descend from the places of power and privilege sin has secured us and to lift others instead.

God has already healed me of so much in the short time I've been following Him, and I know that He was so much more to do in my life. He's healed me (is healing me) in areas I've had so many struggles; worship, purity, emotions.

I used to be a bit of a writer in high school. I wish I still was but I never take the time to write anymore. I guess I was okay -- certainly not amazing by any stretch of the imagination, and even "good" is giving myself a lot of credit. Though, I did once get published in our literary mag. But it was a funny poem I wrote. I mostly wrote sketches -- short stories that would just involve a few characters and one or two scenes at the most. They were very heavy mood pieces.

“Do you know how the old artists did paintings? The masters? The ones that you see in museums worth millions of dollars?”

“No,” he said.

“The ‘master’ painter would usually only paint part of each piece of work. He would start them. He would paint the main subject. Think of it was an outline of a plot to a novel. But his students would always finish those paintings, working together. Each one of them would work on a single part of it – maybe something as simple as a one-stroke blade of grass, or as complex as a lightening storm…or a face.

“The point is, these paintings are massive, corporate works. They are truly masterpieces, and not because they’re beautiful – beautiful is fleeting. It’s redefined every generation. They’re masterpieces because so many people were involved. Each person working on the canvas had their own unique style, and the masterpiece was formed by all the different people that touched it.”

“And?”

She ripped the sketch of him from her book and put it aside. Then she sketched a quick outline of a body and slid it across the table to him. “Living is simple,” she repeated. “This is you. This is you alive.” She taped the picture. “Simple. You want to know hard? Hard is filling this picture out. Hard is being someone.

“Hard is finishing this drawing. You can be anyone you want to be. You can even be the one God means you to be. God is your master painter. And each person you know will have their own affect on your life. Maybe they’ll paint a storm…or maybe a ray of sunshine. Or maybe just a blade of grass. Hard is being your masterpiece.

“Hard is not fading away into an empty, lonely world just because you’re hurt. You don’t have to be trapped by your pain. You don’t have to be trapped by who you are and who you hate. Do you have the courage for that? Maybe I’m idealistic, but I know you do.”

I've never been a big fan of poetry. I didn't like it because there was no plot, or resolution, or obvious character arcs. But I've realized more and more that my relationship with God these past few years is less of a story and more of a poem.

My heritage is God. It's this huge God and this group of people gathered together to worship Him and make His name known. Every tribe, tongue, and nation. It's 17,000 people screaming in the New Year at Urbana and it's refugees gathered outside their church in the middle of Malawi. See, I think there will be light shows and rock concerts in the new creation. But I also really look forward to the acapella and the campfires.

Palibe ofana ndi yesu. And next to Him, everything is a loss.