Damages on Every side: the quake in Peru

If you look carefully, this dear lady on the right is almost stoic in her expression, resigned to the destruction that characterized her home. She stands where her door once stood, looking off at what can only be a memory of her precious few belongings that were buried by Wednesday's quake. She is impervious to the icy wind that bites at her exposed extemities. She is in survival mode.



The young family above stands in the entrance to their house. They lost everything. Everything but their faith. They cling to their life in Christ.

This scene is repeated thirty thousand times all over Ica, Pisco, Chincha, and hundreds of small towns.



Entire communities crumbled under the force of the magnitude 8 earthquake. One community had moved to their location just a few years earlier, having been forced out of their old community by mudslides. Once again they have lost it all: pots and pans were crushed under the load of the collapsing walls. Clothes, buried under mounds of rubble are now useless.

It will take weeks and months to recover from this terrible tragedy. Peruvians have shown themselves to be a resilient people. But this has taken its toll. This has bowed the backs of some of the strongest.

Pray for Peru.

Peru Earthquake - The Team Returns

The Team is back in Lima. They will compile a report and share their strategy in the next few days.

Today they were stuck in lines of cars as much as 12 miles long. There are many sightseers; but there are many up to no good, as well. They spoke with emotion about the danger they sensed while in Ica. They also recognized God was with them.

The team was very frustrated to not be able to give much away. The needs are just too overwhelming.

Give thanks for a safe return.

The Quake in Peru - Saturday afternoon

The team is slowly making its way back to Lima. They are still more than 100 miles away. Traffic is snarled and crawling at the pace of lukewarm tar.

The team was able to visit both Paracas and Pisco, both very hard-hit areas. They will give a better report when phone reception is better, or when they arrive.

Meanwhile, Peru's local paper, El Comercio, reported that they have 20% of basic services restored in Ica, with hopes of reaching 80% by nightfall. Lighted streets and running water will make a significant difference for the survivors.

Saturday morning, part 2

Pam just called in. They did not sleep very much last night. There were two strong shakes, looting, gunfire, whistles, and shouting went on all night long in Ica. The store owners won't open their stores this morning for fear of being looted. The desparate victims loot even more when they see there is nothing available to buy. The cycle must be broken. Pray for order to be restored.

The team is going to try to make it to Paracas, a historical town that is mostly under water now. Situated by the sea, Paracas was innundated during the quake.

The team hopes to be back by "bedtime" tonight.

Peru Earthquake, Saturday Morning

The research/relief team is hard at work. Meanwhile, local newspapers report some 33,200 homes have been destroyed in the Ica/Chincha areas. The destruction is overwhelming. The discrepancies you will read in the death tolls are due to the fact that, until a body has been identified, it is not "officially dead." So the volunteer firemen and other workers have one set of statistics, while the government publishes another set.

No single entity will be able to reach out and make a difference. And, as it is with all major disasters, this won't be fixed overnight. But nations from around the world have responded in compassion, giving all kinds of help.

Looting and raiding continues to be a problem. Local officials are asking for the government to send in the military to control the chaos.

Aftershocks continue to frighten almost everyone who feels them. Even this morning at 1 AM the house was popping, cracking, and shuddering; and we were not among those who suffered damages!

More when the team calls in...

Latest from Ica, Peru

I spoke with the research/relief team about ten minutes ago. They had an answer to prayer in that the school administrators allowed them to bring all vehicles inside the walled school property. They have also allowed them to set up tents inside and to use this place as their initial base of operations.

The team reports that the church building there is in shambles. There have been several thousand dollars of damage to that one structure.

Tomorrow the plan is to give each family of the church a relief package for themselves, as well as one to give to an unsaved family to minister both evangelistically and holistically.

The team thinks they may head back to Lima tomorrow to refit and head out again next week.

Thanks for your continued prayers.

In Ica, Peru

The investigation team is in Ica, Peru. The church that they planned to coordinate distribution efforts with has a building far too damaged to use. The school next door was in better shape and has allowed the church members to offload our supplies there.

The pillagers who ransacked one truck, by the way, only got away with a minimal amount of their blankets and personal hygiene items we had prepared for distribution.

My wife Pam tells me they do not know where they will sleep tonight. They are working out arrangements with church members at this time. They went prepared to sleep on the ground, or in the trucks.

Two words describe Pam's impression of what she has seen so far: devastation and danger. The people are desparate, hungry, thirsty, and very frightened. Pray for all involved.

Quake update

I just spoke with one of the members of the investigation team. They have been stuck on the Pan American Highway for the past 3 hours (approximately). As the traffic finally began moving across a bridge at a town called San Clemente, some people converged upon the trucks. They managed to get the windows open on one of the trucks and took out the supplies the team was taking to Ica.

No one was injured and the team is fine; but your prayers are important!

The pastor from Chincha was able to get one truckload of water delivered to his completely destroyed community. The team rejoices that they have been put in the right places at the right times to be able to minister.

The Quake, part 6

I just spoke with the team. We are pricing tarps for folks to use for coverings/walls. They are stuck outside Pisco, the hardest-hit city. The military has stopped all traffic on the Pan American highway.

In Chincha, an hour north of Pisco, the team was able to buy at least 5 truckloads of water for a neglected area in that city; that area is cut off from the main distribution center in Chincha. A local pastor will be on hand to coordinate the distribution of the water, which will supply that area for as much as 3 days.

Earthquake, part 5

News reports by local television showed large crowds of men and women standing along the highways, rushing any vehicle they thought might be carrying relief items. Vigilante justice is beginning to take over the harder-hit areas. Pray for our caravan of 4 vehicles that are loaded with relief items.

The team had stopped outside one of the hard-hit towns; there they sent in one truck with the adminstrative support leader for our missionaries. He was going to consult with officials and try to get some better indication as to where the team should consider investigating.

The aftershocks still continue at the rate of about one an hour--this, 2 days later.

Thanks for praying!

Earthquake, Part 4

The first report from our team is from Cañete. There is a tremendous lack of potable water. Our team coordinated with them to purchase a truckload of drinking water for the part of Cañete they visited.

This will be the greatest need, no doubt. Where there are wells, the water is very muddy from the constant aftershocks, making it undrinkable.

More as we receive reports...

Earthquake in Peru, part 3

Yesterday was spent checking on outlying areas around Lima where we have ministry sites. About 5 of us assembled at 2 to plan a trip for today to the most devastated areas, all between one hundred and one hundred-fifty miles south of Lima.

The death toll is above 500 now. We have heard of many small villages that are in desperate need of relief. Many villages in the areas most affected were completely leveled, are without running water, and without lights. People are sleeping in the streets; others are afraid of looters and are staying in houses that are structurally unsafe. Our team, which left an hour ago, will determine to what extent we can be involved.

The aftershocks continue. We just had a 30+ second shock of over 5 in the Richter Scale. I thought I was going to have to leave the house.

Pray for Peru!

Earthquake in Peru, part 2

Civil Defense puts the death toll in the cities south of Lima at 337 and climbing. More than 1,000 were injured. The Pan American Highway collapsed 200 kilometers south of Lima. Traffic is snarled and slow through that area.

As Drudge says, "developing..."

Earthquake in Peru

Our supper last night was rudely interrupted by the strongest tremor we have felt in more than 18 years of time in Peru.

Let Quentin Roberts tell the story from downtown Lima:

"We were downtown in the building when the tremors began….the building floor was shaking a lot….we quickly exit the building to meet total chaos on the streets. The streets were moving like water waves. All the people were running out of the discos and buildings. A lot of tension and confusion was in the air. The people were gathering in the streets and obstructing the traffic. We tried unsuccessfully to get a taxi….they were all filled…we finally got a bus and after 2 hours we arrived home safely.

Prayers are needed for the people who live in the buildings downtown…they are afraid to reenter the buildings because they are adobe and very weak."

It was a frightening 2 minutes. News reports claim hundreds have died. Today we will assess our participation in disaster relief in the towns south of Lima. It will be tedious and difficult due to the chaos this has produced.

Pray for Peru!

Who Built Your Walls?

I was supposed to be a part of a wall-dedication yesterday. Yes, you read that right: a wall-dedication. We used human needs funds to build a retaining wall around a community of 350 people. That wall is to protect them from landslides that can occur from seismic activity. The Andes Mountains are known for their frequent tremors. I saw one of those rocks come down the hill one day. It was ugly. The ground shook as the big boulder bounced its way downward. You would have been mortified to have been there. The boulder came to rest against a part of the wall that had been completed. The wall demonstrated it was doing what we constructed it to do.

Before we could build the good wall. We had to tear down the bad wall. There was a wall that was poorly constructed; one that was formed by piling rocks, one on top of the other. Had a boulder come down the steep hillside, that wall would scattered like bowling pins.

It made me think of the walls around us. Some of them are there by the grace of God. He is our fortress. He is our protection. He keeps the big rocks from pounding us. He keeps the enemy at a distance with the walls he sets up.

Sometimes we tear down those walls of protection. We do it through willful disobedience. We do it through rebellion. We do it through anger, grudges, and an unrepentant heart. We actually dig under the foundations to try to escape submission to God. And he lets us do that. He knows that Jesus' true followers will be back; they won't tarry long outside of God's protection.

Sometimes we build our own walls, thinking that we are keeping some things out. The truth is we are keeping too many things in. Those walls become strongholds. They become prisons of our own doing. Imagine the insanity of that! Yet we do it. I never met anyone who has not built up some kind of stronghold in his life. I met plenty who are now free from those strongholds.

Sometimes we are passive in our relationship with Jesus, and we allow his enemy to build walls around us. That is also a stronghold. You have seen those strongholds before. Fear. Doubt. Bitterness. Rage. We may disguise them; but they are there.

Those kinds of walls need tearing down. We need to let the Master Builder go to work and build the protective walls.

Oh, the wall-dedication got put off for a few weeks. That happens in this culture. They forgot to tell me. That also happens in this culture.

In the same way, we can be tempted to put off our homage to Jesus--our worship of the Master Builder. Don't! Thank him every day for his protective walls he has placed around you.

Take a good look at your life. Who built your walls?

A Thief in the Night

The thief has a three-fold purpose. He never comes to pay you a visit. He comes with a specific goal in mind. He wants to steal what you have, destroy what you have, and to kill.

We lived that last Sunday afternoon. Right after I had admonished all of us to stand in the valley and praise God in the face of a strong enemy, the enemy broke into our house--literally.

I went off to participate in ministry in one of our hundreds of shantytowns all over our city. I left at three Sunday afternoon. I returned at seven (after dark here) to find our home as the latest target of the thieves that often "visit" the wealthy neighborhoods. Now I never considered myself to be wealthy, mind you. But compared to many, we are living like kings.

The thieves stole what we had; we lost all our files for our work--everything. They even got our backup files. We lost many personal possessions; some of those are irreplaceable. We lost ministry items. And we have lost countless hours of time, trying to put things back in order.

They destroyed our property--the entrance doors were jimmied and the locks were obliterated. For a few hours--perhaps more--they destroyed our peace of mind. The first night every bump I heard brought me to a sitting postion. It was not a good night's rest.

And they killed the joy of the day's ministry. Now they have been known to kill dogs and people who get in their way; but no one was home, thankfully.

Now all this was bad. You have no idea, unless you have lived it.

But that is not as bad as The Thief. He is one whose singular goal is to take you to hell. His goal is to destroy your ministry. His is to wreak havoc in your daily life. You must know that his heart is filled with hatred, even for those actively serve him. He hates you. He hates us all.

Don't be fooled by the thief. He may pay you a visit and be so friendly. But he is only looking around to see how he can destroy your life. He will come back in the night and destroy what he can.

Jesus, on the other hand, will give you an abundance as you have never seen. It may not be in material terms; but it will be treasures in your heart and spirit. It's a far better payoff.

Standing in the Valley of Praise

Let me tell you a really old story; it can even begin with "Once upon a time, in a land far away, there was a king."

Now this king was kind, generous, honest and wise. He insisted his judges be impartial and honest in all their dealings. He feared God and tried to follow him. Oh, to be sure, he was not perfect in all his ways; but mostly his heart was right before God. And God was with him.

As it is with all of us, one day the enemy showed up at his gates. This enemy was strong, formidable. Someone came to the king and said, "Sir, you're in a tight spot. The enemy is coming against you." Now the king had a choice to make. He could call on some of his neighbors to come help; but they did not follow the Lord. His neighbors decided long ago that following the Lord was stilted, rigid, and--well, not tolerant or cool. The king could call on them. Or he could do what he did: call on the Lord.

So the king called for a prayer meeting. He was pretty forthright in his prayers, too. He said, "Lord, we have only shown these people kindness. Now look at what they are doing. Are you going to let them get away with this?" This is where the story gets good.

Every man, woman, and child showed up for this prayer meeting. The rich were there. The poor were there. Young and old alike, they were all there. Even all the choir showed up. And God spoke. There they stood, or perhaps many knelt, when God whispered into the heart of one of the men there. He was a worship leader, maybe; or maybe he was just a member of the choir. But don't discount him! God spoke to him.

You would think that God would speak to one of his prophets, right? Or maybe a preacher. But no. God does what God pleases; and what God pleases always brings honor to God. So God chose to speak in an unlikely manner. I wonder how unexpected it was for God to speak like this?

The choir master lifted his voice and said, "Jumpin' Jehoshaphat! I think I have a message for you, majesty. Don't sweat this army. Don't give up. You just stand back and watch; God's gonna take care of them." The man told the king what route the army was taking and where they should go. And remember, he told them to just stand there and let God do the fighting.

But there was more. God told them to put the choir in front of the army. Imagine a choir marching in front of the army, singing with all their might about the holiness of God. Onward they marched, singing and praising the Lord.

The air was pregnant with praise. The angels of the Lord were shouting in agreement, no doubt. The demons of hell were cringing in disgust, I am sure. Two groups of the enemy rose up against another. Then those two turned on themselves. Before long the battle was over; the enemy was defeated. And the king's army had not lifted a single weapon.

There they stood, victorious. There was so much stuff there that it took three full days to haul off what they could. And what did they call the place? The Valley of Praise. Some call it the Valley of Blessing. Here "blessing" stands for "praise."

The king prospered for many years after that.

May I remind you of something? When you choose to follow the Lord Jesus with all your heart, you are going to make an amazing discovery. You will discover that the Lord's chief enemy, Satan, is going to send his forces against you. Paul told Timothy, "Everyone who chooses to live a godly, Christ-like life will suffer persecution." That means they will find themselves in a tight spot. Satan wants to discourage you. He wants you to get so low in the valley you can't see the mountaintops. Turn that valley into The Valley of Praise. Let God rout your enemies. You just praise him, draw near to him, and let him do the dirty work.

Oh, you can read that story in 2 Chronicles 20, in your Old Testament.

Where Are the Heroes?

A-Rod hit #500. The world--more than 99% of it--barely stifled a yawn. But for someone out there, A-Rod is a hero. Folks are speaking of his historic achievement. Really? Five hundred homers is an achievement, to be sure; but historic? Hardly. But, as I said, sports figures are heroes for a number of people.

On my television at this moment is a series called "Heroes." I heard that this show is one of the hottest in the U.S.A. It has two dimensions to it: it is spiritual; and it projects men and women doing heroic things.

Harry Potter is a hero for a lot of kids (maybe some adults, too). So is Britney. So is Paris. And Brad. And too many more like them.

One common thread runs through many of these modern heroes: they lack moral fiber. I am not saying A-Rod lacks it; I don't know him. But we know that a lot of sports figures, music stars, and movies stars, and even fictional characters are morally bankrupt. They live a duplicitous life, partying and doing things that cannot be mentioned in a public forum; or, when they find themselves in trouble, talking about how much they love the Lord. And these are the men and women that we try to immortalize in our minds.

Here is the true definition of a hero: "a man [or woman, in the case of a heroine] of distinguished courage or ability, admired for his brave deeds and noble qualities."

Where, may I ask, are the true heroes? Where are the men and women that make a difference, but for the greater good of this world and of eternal things?

They are out there. They work quietly most of the time. Many would never consider themselves to be heroes. Their eyebrows would raise so high they would run under their hairline if they knew you thought of them as your hero. But there they are: sacrificing their lives for others, loving unconditionally, spending sleepless nights so you can rest comfortably. They leave their comforts behind to help take others to a higher level. Some work in offices, some in labs, some in hospitals, some in the streets.

Do you have a hero? Do you have a heroine? Take time to pray for them. Take time to tell them.

Pray for the Korean Hostages

We must pray. Our body is hurting; we must pray. God will hear us. I don't know what his answer will be; but he will hear us.

Press On!

Today I read where a 94-year-old received her Masters degree. What a story of perseverance! What a message for us all!

Paul said, "Not that I have already attained, or am already perfected; but I press on, that I may lay hold of that for which Christ Jesus has also laid hold of me. Brethren, I do not count myself to have apprehended; but one thing I do, forgetting those things which are behind and reaching forward to those things which are ahead, I press toward the goal for the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus." (Phil. 3:12 - 14, NKJV) The NIV says "I press on..."

Just as Phyllis Turner pressed on for her Masters, we must press on towards Christ, ever growing, always reaching higher and higher. It will seem like many things set themselves against us, preventing us from reaching our goal. What we often see as a hindrance, though, is God's training room to make us fit for the next level.

You can bet Phyllis Turner did not waltz through the program. You can be assured she worked hard for what she got. She stretched until she finally reached her prize.

We, too, must stretch. We will not reach the prize of the upward calling, the price of Christ-likeness easily. We will have days we are discouraged. We will have days we don't believe we can do. But we can; we will. We must press on!

A Day at an Oasis

Yesterday I was with three volunteers, working in a squatter community called Oasis. Believe me when I tell you it is a misnomer to call this place Oasis. Oasis is built right on top of a garbage dump. It smells. Because of the lack of sanitary conditions, it smells even worse than the landfill covered with sand and dirt that it is. I am not looking forward to next summer (January through March down here); the flies, already swarming, will be plague-like in their presence. That's another story.

Before the Bible study I spoke with two ladies. They both asked me to visit their "house" after the study. They called it a house; we would not even call it a shack. These are huts. I was in more than one of them in the past few weeks. The majority have dirt floors; the walls are made of woven straw mats. Or cardboard. Or plywood if they can get a little money together. Some have tin roofs; most are plastic, like you may use in construction. I have to duck to stand up inside any of them; their ceilings are only about 6 feet. They are illuminated with single light bulbs. I was headed into these after the study.

The study was good. The pastor was very encouraging for the small crowd who had gathered. After the study finished, before I could join the ladies who asked for a home visit, a lady approached me. She had a question, one that led to eternal life for her. Ana asked how she could belong to our group. I opened The Book and preached Jesus. She readily identified with her need for salvation and, with tears in her eyes, she prayed to receive the Lord. As I began her immediate follow-up, a leader from the next group of squatters came up to me, drunk and belligerent. He wanted to know what had these people done to merit my personal attention. I made him repeat himself, and afterwards told him what he needed (not wanted) to hear: God loves them; that is why we are there.

I asked him to let me continue my conversation with Ana, our new believer; but he kept interrupting. If it could get worse, I didn't believe it. And maybe things did not get worse. Maybe it was just one of those days.

I was sipping the hot chocolate they served to me while I was speaking with Luis and Ana, alternating between the two in the time I could divert Luis away from us. As I got to the bottom of the cup, I looked down. The styrofoam cup was full of little black spots. I put on my glasses and saw that those spots had even smaller legs. They were bugs! How appropriate! I had a 6 foot tall bug standing before me, interrupting my witness to this new believer. Now I had no telling how many swimming around inside my stomach.

I finally dispensed with Luis and made arrangements for Ana's discipleship. Now it was time to visit the two ladies' homes. I entered these homes with a little reluctance. They know I live better than they do; it's embarrassing for them for The Gringo to visit. But I was there at their request. We prayed, we talked, and we tried to listen to the Holy Spirit. We tried to encourage these broken women to walk with the Lord Jesus, to let him have first place in their lives.

By now it was dark. You don't want to spend much time in Oasis after dark. It's not safe. And it had been dark for close to an hour. We finally got away, bugs and all. But we all left a part of our heart in Oasis.

And so went another day at a not-so-typical Oasis, somewhere in South America.

Miracles: Don't Seek Them; Don't Discount Them, Either!

I received this story the other day:

Source: Joel News, July 10, 2007

"Recently I conducted a small crusade," says Indian pastor K. John Moses. "The first day we gathered in a small house [to pray]. After the prayer was over, the owner of the house came and told me he had a 22-year old daughter who was mentally affected. They had spent all their earnings on her, and consulted several doctors, but all had been in vain. After saying this he wept like a child before me.""I was moved with compassion for their situation and told the brother to not be discouraged. That night as I went to my room I wept bitterly, remembering them in my prayers. The next morning I gathered together the girl's parents and relatives. I spent the next whole night in prayers and supplications. Suddenly, I received a great power in my room. I felt as if I was ready to see a great act of Almighty God.""When the parents opened the door to their daughter's room, they noticed a great change in her behavior. They could not believe their eyes! As the result of the prayer meeting that night, she was free from all her madness! She was calm and polite. Her past strangeness and ugly deeds had vanished completely. The parents washed her and put new clothes on her and fed her. She went to her bed and slept continuously for two days. The parents [were filled] with boundless joy! It was nothing but the power of prayer and the Lord's good will towards her!""The people who witnessed the miracle praised God. Many more attended the next day's gospel meeting. Fifteen people were saved and brought into the glorious Kingdom of our Savior through this one prayer meeting."

God is at work around us. He is showing his hand in countries all over the world. The average Westerner has trouble with that. We are so scientifically oriented that to hear of a miracle is beyond us. We often believe, in fact, that even what God called miracles in the Bible can be easily explained away. Or we devalue the true meaning of the word "miracle" to a point that it holds nothing special for us. Not so!

First of all, miracles are in the faith arena. If you can explain something, there is nothing miraculous about it. A miracle surpasses the natural; it is the supernatural invading the realm of the natural.

Be assured, God is still very active in this world. He still heals the sick, makes the lame walk, and even raises the dead (read The Heavenly Man). He can make cars go farther on a tank of fuel. He can cause it to rain in times of drought, and dry up in times of rain.

Here is what you need to remember about the miraculous: true miracles are intended to bring honor and glory to God. That is why he does it. [WARNING: the devil can perform miracles, too, if he thinks it will take you farther from Jesus.] I think that is why Jesus said it's an adulterous and evil generation that seeks miracles. So don't spend your time looking for them. But don't discount them, either. Raise the bar of your expectations. God may want to do something in and through you that will only be explained as a miracle.

Pray for Peru

It's cold in Peru. At least 70 children have died from the cold. Temps will continue to be as low as -4 F (-20 C) for at least one more month.

Pray for this country and its nearly 29 million people.

That's bad. This is worse: Ninety percent of this country's people walk in darkness--not absence of electrical services. They walk in spiritual darkness. They bow to false gods. The worship the gods of the mountains, of the winds, of the water; they worship the gods of the trees, of the elements. They worship the sun. In many cases, they hide idols within their statues of the saints that the parade through the streets. They pray to icons, to images.

If one hundred percent of men and women in Peru died today, ninety percent would spend eternity separated from God. Ninety percent would be in hell. God wants that to change.

Pray for Peru.

Embraced by Love

July 27, 2006 began as all days do down here in South America. The work was plentiful; the opportunities to share Jesus abounded. At 7 that evening, though, our world changed forever. It was violently shaken; it was suddenly and inexplicably pillaged by man’s greatest enemy: death.

It was a normal day for my oldest daughter and her family, too. My son-in-law went to work, as normal. My daughter was home, caring for their 11-week old baby girl; it was their firstborn, our first grandchild. Michelle put Grace down for a nap sometime in the afternoon. Sometime later she went to check on Grace and found her lying there. She was still. She was not moving. She was not breathing.

Michelle called 911 and the rapid responders came as quickly as possible—within minutes. They transported the baby and mother to the hospital, where all the wonderful doctors and nurses tried with all their might to revive Grace. It was too late.

When Kory called we were stricken; we were numb with pain. It was the most inconceivable thing that we had ever experienced. It was the most painful. It still is some days.

We traveled to the states as quickly as possible. There we mourned and grieved with all who had gathered. The family honored me by asking me to preach Grace’s funeral. I did; but it was only in the strength of the Lord that any of us were able to endure that interminable day.

Almost a year has passed now. We had a choice to make after Grace died. We had to decide how we were going to let her passing affect us. We had to choose to live and let that experience become a growing time for us. Or we could choose to stay there, living in that terrible moment of pain and sorrow, remaining paralyzed and growing bitter. That's what happens when you drink from the same bottle of water for too many days. It grows bitter. It sours.

Someone I spoke with wondered aloud how any of us could move on with life. The answer is easy; and at the same time the answer is complicated. Let me be very honest with you: some days come and I don’t know if I will be able to look at a child without pain in my heart. I have had to turn away with tears in my eyes when I came close to a child Grace’s age. I have had days of pain that I have, right or wrong, hidden from those around me. And I was not the parent of this child; think of them! Think of their pain! I have seen what they write; I have spoken with my daughter. Their pain is intense, even a year later.

How do you get by that?

I find the answer in one verse of Scripture: “And now abide faith, hope and love, these three; but the greatest of these is love.” – 1 Co. 13:13

Those three are ever-present companions for me; that is what “abide” means. They are there; the Holy Spirit uses them to carry us through the day. And on some days that is how we make it. One step. One hour. One morning. One afternoon. One night at a time.

We live by the faith of the Lord Jesus Christ (Gal. 2:20). It’s faith in him, not faith in faith.

We live by the hope—that wonderful expectation--to be reunited with Grace in the presence of Jesus. It's hope based on faith. Otherwise it would be wishful thinking.

We live by the love of the Father through Jesus Christ. He loves us far more deeply than we can ever understand. Someone said something like, "When you can't see his hand, trust his heart."

A friend called me the other day. We were discussing this and other issues on the phone. He reminded me that Satan cannot send anything our way that is not filtered through the love of the Father. Our Father in Heaven loves us. He wants the best for us. He understands our separation in ways that we cannot comprehend. After all, we were separated from him until we were brought to him by the blood and death of Jesus. He was separated from his only son when Jesus died on the cross and bore our sins.

The greatest is love. The other things--faith and hope--are powerful in and of themselves. But without the love of the Father, they have no real meaning.

Now I want to ask a favor of all who read this post. Take a moment and pray for the Kidd family and the Shearer family. It’s going to be a hard week for us. July 27th will be a painful day for us.

Pray that God will prepare us now.

Pray for healing for both families.

Pray each of us will sense he or she is embraced by love.

What's in Your Chest?

In a small room in my backyard, I have a tool chest. It's not just a box; it's a 6-drawer chest that once belonged to my father. Each drawer is carefully arranged, filled with the tools that I have for whatever project I may find myself involved in. In the top drawer you would find my screwdrivers. In the next one, my wrenches are carefully laid out. And so on and so forth goes each drawer.

I don't use just any tool for any job. I have seen it done, mind you. I have seen someone grab a pair of pliers and use that important tool as a wrench on a stubborn bolt. I have seen others grab a regular screwdriver and try to use it in a phillips-head screw. When we use our tools that way, it just slows us down; don't you think? It often makes the job that more difficult the next time, too. My late father-in-law, a bivocational preacher, was a master mechanic--a specialist in diesel motors. He would often wave his wrenches at us and admonish us, "Boys, you have to use the right tool to do the job right!"

As a missionary, I have another tool chest. In that one I have a lot of different ways to try to start a church. There are the storying tools; there are inductive Bible study tools; there are mass evangelism tools; there are house church tools, simple church tools, and other church styles. And that list goes on, too numerous to describe in this short post. There is no one tool that will suffice for every place I want to start a church. Each area of this megacity is distinct; each church start requires a unique approach. And that is what is important, I think. We must use the right tool to do the job right.

Don't overlook this little analogy. Don't think one tool will do the job. Don't use a house church model when another model is called for, and vice-versa.

Stop and take a look. What's in your chest?

Are You in the Grist Mill?

The elderly gentleman smiled as he pulled on a rope that lifted a gate on a stone canal and let the water flow. He stood there explaining the nature of the apparatus before us. It was a mill. A grist mill. The farmer put his grain into a bin that slowly, methodically let it flow into the path of a large stone. That stone pulverized the grain, producing a fine flour; the farmer was quite proud. The water turned a wheel, the wheel turned the gears, and the gears moved the perfectly round stones in such a way that the grain became flour.

I looked and felt that there was a true lesson in that. Sometimes we are visitors at the grist mill. We stand aside and witness difficulties in other's lives. But sometimes we feel like we are in the mill. We feel ground up. We feel like we are being pulverized.

Let's get real. Sometimes we are being pulverized. We are under the rollers, being pressed. Maybe not literally, but certainly emotionally and spiritually. Think about it; someone calls you with devastating news from a doctor. I read some news like that this very morning about a friend of mine. I was grieved for her. Someone calls in the middle of the night and tells you a loved one has died. I received that e mail this morning, too; one of my friends lost her father. That, along with many other things, has happened to most of us. If it has not happened to you, yet, hang on; it will.

The big question is, what will you do when you are in the grist mill? The purpose of the mill is to provide sustenance--nourishment--for others. Your crushed life can be something that helps someone else to grow and be more like Jesus. The one phone call that has impacted me most this year was from a friend in another South American nation. He told me that he was ready to quit, to pack it up and go home. But when we stayed in spite of the terrible, crushing blows that came our way a year ago, it inspired him and his wife. He said our "flour" was his nourishment and helped him to stay. I learned a lot from that single call. It was like a love letter from Christ to my heart.

That is not the only lesson for us. When life crushes you and me, others will see what is inside. They are supposed to see love, joy, peace, endurance, and a few other kinds of grain the Master has sown in our hearts. But sometimes others see weeds, don't they? Sometimes the cares of this world overtake the fruit of the Spirit. God shows us this so that we can correct the problem; and the problem would be that we are not walking in the Spirit.

Are you in the grist mill? Are you being crushed by life's pulverizing stones? Let the Master Miller make fine flour of your circumstance; then go feed others with it.

A Week of Miracles, part 2

This is the second installment on A Week of Miracles.

The 28-person volunteer group was a hard-working group. They started early and worked hard all day long. The bulk of the effort went into VBS and personal evangelism. There was a small carpentry team along who helped with some renovations to a community center the community loans us for our meetings.

What is so miraculous about that? Nothing, in and of itself. The miraculous happened before our eyes some 327 times. Yes, 327 people prayed to receive Christ. Some were delivered from a life of rank sin. Some were young, most were adults. We saw men, women, young people, and a few children older than ten who opened their hearts to Jesus.

It was miraculous that the men and women opened their homes to us. That is not the most common thing in these parts. They don't like people to come into their homes. But they did. The asked us in. And in we went. The floors were often just packed dirt. Sometimes the walls were made of woven mats; sometimes they were made of thin plywood. And sometimes they were made of a thin tongue-in-groove wood. Sometimes they would have a tin roof over their small hut; sometimes it was just a bit of plastic--plastic that leaked. But they all had one thing in common: there were two rooms: one for eating in and one for sleeping in.

In those primitive huts, with dangerous electrical connections and no running water or sewage of any kind, we sat (or stood stooped over because the ceilings were too low) and shared the love of Christ. They were so ready to hear the gospel. They responded with tears, with smiles, and lots of hugs.

Not all wanted Jesus. Some, like Jose, Manuel, and Naomi, rejected the Savior. They were happy in their sin. Even that was a miraculous thing. We parted as friends. The door is still open to share Jesus once again.

The fact no one was dog-bit, no one became ill from the exotic foods, no one came away with lice (which we really did see), or other potential problems was also an answer to prayer.

God was at work in our midst. For that, we give him praise and the spotlight shines on him.

A Week of Miracles

This blog has been silent for the past week. It was not a "blog fast;" I am not into such designations. It was due to plain, hard work. It was plain fun, too. It was a week of miracles.

The smaller miracle was among the sadder things I have witnessed in my 29 years of Christian ministry. It began with a phone call from Pam, my bride of nearly 27 years. She had received a call from another part of this city of around ten million. The lady on the other end of the line was crying, unconsolably so. Her father had gone on a rampage. He beat his 16-year-old daughter. He beat he wife, breaking her arm. Mom and daughter locked themselves in a room upstairs, frightened.

What kind of man would do such a thing? What kind of man would beat his family? It enraged both Pam and me. It was worse by the knowledge that this man was a pastor. Yes, a pastor. A man of God. A preacher of righteousness. And here he was, acting in as heinous a way as one can imagine.

I was over 2 hours away. They wanted me to go and speak to the father. I did not know if I could leave 28 volunteers to do so. But God had supplied a need before we ever knew about it. One of the men was an orthopedist--an M.D. from MS. He asked if he could go with me. So did a young carpenter-turned-preacher who was with the group. The doctor had begun the trip by telling me that he did not know why, but he had brought casting supplies in case of broken bones. So off we went.

When we found the family, father included, there were tears enough to fill a swimming pool. I asked to see what the dad used to beat his family. I cannot do justice to the size of the piece of wood the man used. It was a 2 X 2, over 2 feet long. It was hard and heavy. And with that piece of wood this man beat his wife and daughter. The doctor was livid. He rebuked the man, with me translating.

After some time with the family, and after an examination of the daughter's leg, the doctor told them she should get an X-ray. His conclusion without the X-ray was that it was broken, just as the mother's arm had been broken (X-rays supported that already). All other tests showed the leg was broken; it seemed very clear to all of us there. Even the protrusion on the side of the leg warned of a break.

We laid hands on the girl and prayed for her, anointing her with oil. And we left them with strong counsel to get that X-ray. They did so the following day. And when they took it to the doctor, the place where there was supposed to be a break was fine. No breaks. No broken bones. The doctor grinned like a goat eating briars. The young preacher did, too. God had healed this young lady's leg. It was a true miracle.

We serve a God who delights in demonstrating his power. This was the smaller of the miracles of this past week. Tomorrow, I will share the greater miracles that we witnessed.

Urban Migration and Missions

Today I read an interesting article that should be important to missionaries and those interested in winning our world for the glory of God. The article deals with population trends around the world. It can be found here.

The long and short of the story is this: the world is moving into cities. Now that is not news for many; we knew that. What we may not have known is that many are moving to smaller cities of a half-million or so. The larger cities are not the ones growing; it's those smaller ones where we need to begin concentrating our forces.

Those interviewed have an apparent concern that, due to the lack of a good political/governmental infrastructure, these cities could be targets for religious extremists. That is good news for us. It means what we already knew. The people will be, in all likelihood, receptive to hearing the gospel. If they are targets for extremism, they are targets for Jesus!

What does this mean for mission strategists? It tells us where to send new personnel, where to deploy existing personnel. While we are committed to reaching all the world for Christ, we should be careful not to ignore the migration of over half the world. We should not wait until unrest develops; we must get our personnel in place now.

What does this mean for the local churches around the world? It tells us how to pray. It tells us how to plan. It tells us how to encourage those we send out.

Lord, send forth your laborers!

Pray for North Korea

Consider the following from Christianpost.com

The South Korean Church urged believers worldwide to participate in the Global Week of Prayer for North Korea, June 25-July 1, when it declared 2007 as the International Year of Prayer for North Korea. The 2007 North Korea prayer event is particularly important because it occurs on the 100th year of the 1907 Pyongyang Great Revival – considered the base of Christianity in Korea.

The gates of hell will not prevail against the church that advances on its knees!

Blended Worship

This morning, after my prayer time, I turned on the local news broadcast. I learned some interesting things. First, today (June 24th) is Saint John's Day. Now, you would think that this meant that folks would be excited over the life of John, the Beloved Disciple. He was the one who sat next to Jesus, leaning against him during the Lord's last Passover celebration with the disciples. He was the one who, led by the Holy Spirit, penned simply and powerfully those words that have changed perhaps billions of lives.

The celebration in this part of South America, however, is different. The celebration I saw on TV was the clearest evidence of a successful blend of a form of Christianity and folk religions from both the jungle and the mountains of Peru. Scantily-clad young ladies representing jungle worship gyrated to music, while pythons slithered and slid over their arms and shoulders. To their right, and just behind them, sat six witchdoctors with their potions laid out, calling on their gods. Beyond them were others, vigourously shaking their bottles of beer, spraying one another, and dancing to different kinds of music blaring in the background. It was a cacophony of sounds, none of which had anything to do with John or Jesus, or the true God.

But that is life in this particular form of Christianity. One of their religious leaders once told me that they discovered that, so long as they allowed the locals to incorporate the former gods into the worship, all would be well. So he allowed men and women to worship the sun, the mountain gods, the wind, the moon, and other animistic things. It is not uncommon for a statue of some saint being paraded through the streets to have inside of it the figurine of some local deity. Often, once the local religious leader leaves a mountain church, a witchdoctor will enter the same building to hold his religious services.

"Horrible!," you cry. You turn your head in disgust. And so you should. But before you lift another stone, consider your own ways. What have you added to Jesus that does not belong? I went to a local church in the southern United States not long ago who had to cancel services so that the members could spend the entire day in the cemetary. It's called Decoration Day. I know of churches whose age-old traditions carry more value than the written, clear word of God; is that god any different than those of the mountain religions? If something stands taller than God, it's too big. If something moves you more than God, it's in the way.

It's this kind of blended worship that makes God sick. And you thought I was going to speak of hymns and praise songs...! Love the Lord with all your heart, soul, mind, and strength!

Celebrate!

I took some men to a poor community the other day. These men, Don and Tim, were visiting from the great state of Mississippi. We went to try to share the gospel. I say "try" because you just don't know what may happen in any given moment. I went to specifically share with men, men I knew would be there because they were helping us build retaining walls on the steep, dangerous hillside this community sits upon. I knew they would be there. I knew they would not mind a break from that back-wrenching work, either.

So off we went. The first part of the journey within the community was easy. It was up the new steps we had poured just 6 weeks ago. But we got to the top and my guests were on the winded side. So was I. It was a steep climb, even on stairs. We watched the men work all around us. Soon I called to the foreman and had them bring the men into two groups, well apart from one another.

It was a dirty walk across the hill. Don's navy blue pants were now blue and brown. His brown shoes were covered with the same light-brown dust. That's partly from the dirt; it was also from the fragmented grey rocks strewn all around us. We slid down the rocks on the part of the hill where we were going to be preaching. We were both covered in dirt, Don more than I. But a little dirt would not deter us from our mission. Don joked that he hoped he did not cause a landslide coming down the hill. He looked as though he tried.

My friend Don preached to one group, with me translating. Another man translated for the other guest. Off we went, preaching the gospel. There sat those men, filling up the stairs in front of us. Don startled them with one question, "If you died today, do you know if you would spend eternity in heaven?" He had their attention. The men before me live for today. They don't like to think about eternity. Or death. Or heaven. Or hell. But now they had to. It was before them, like an open chasm for them to look into.

Don shared simply, but with passion. The men listened intently. I did my best to translate with the same passion Don showed them. He ably demonstrated by Scripture that we are all sinners. Sin has wages: death--separation from God. Someone paid the wages; his name is Jesus. Jesus died for our sin. Jesus paid the price. We can be free from those wages, if we so desire. All this Don showed in the word of God.

Before long, fifteen men bowed their heads and asked Jesus to save them. I feel that most of them were genuine in their repentance and plea for salvation. Their tears seemed to indicate it. Their hearty applause and handshakes also seemed to show it.

I wish I could take you there with these words. There are no adequate words to describe the scene that unfolded before us. It was a God-moment. I almost thought I heard the joyous shouts in heaven.

Let the celebration begin!

Why Not Just Do It?

I read a lot about church planting. Sometimes I think I read too much. Maybe we all do.

Honestly, I am getting a little frustrated reading the different websites who claim to have the answer. Is there a panacea for church planting? Is there a single model that will launch all of us into such a planting frenzy that we finish the task in my lifetime? The short answer is, "No!" Please consider what Oswald Chambers said last century: "Never try to make your experience a principle for others, but allow God to be as creative and original with others as He is with you." - My Utmost for His Highest, June 13.

So here is my advice to my church-planting friends: just do it! Find God's pattern for your people and do it. Find God's plan for your people and use it. There is no short cut. There is no easy way. It's all hard work. Just do it.

Where will we find that pattern and plan? We will find it in the prayer closet. That may sound too simple; well, it is not. It is blood, sweat, and tears. Seeking the Father's face may well be the most challenging part there ever was to church planting. So, with no further adieu, let's just do it!

Still Seeking,

Kevin, Somewhere in South America

First Fruits

It was a cold day. The ocean mist hung over the city like the wet blanket it was. We were all wrapped up like cocoons, trying to find some warmth against the cool, heavy humidity that penetrated our bones. Yet, in spite of the cold, there were some who were about to demonstrate their love for Jesus.

Two brave souls endured the cool air and even cooler water in the baptismal pool. Two demonstrated their love for Jesus in a work that is only two months old. We had hoped for more; but we rejoiced with the two.

Because the work is so new and because of a shortage of national workers, I found myself doing the baptizing. It's not my preferred method of working here. I am that school of thought who wants the locals to do the work. The man we baptized was not a good candidate for that; I won't go into reasons why. I just intend to rejoice over the the first fruits of this new work.

Now, I want you to meet Hilario. I am including this profession of faith because of its uniqueness. Hilario saw us gathered like sardines in our little building the community designated as the "temple." He chose to stop by on his way home with his tiny bag of herbs for his meal that day. He listened to the story from Acts 16. He watched intently as I baptized the two new believers. And he gave his heart to the Lord. I asked Hilario his age. He is 91. And yesterday he met the Savior for the first time in his life.

But Hilario was not the first that day. A 14-year-old named Junior was the first to profess Christ yesterday. I wrote about Junior sometime ago. Junior is the one who tried to kill himself with rat poison. Yesterday we celebrated the death of the old man and the birth of the new Junior. He stood before us with a big smile telling us about his conversion. A child led Hilario. A young man will now become a warrior for Jesus.

It was a day for rejoicing and celebration. It was the Lord's Day. It was Strong Tower Baptist Church's first fruits.

Here Am I! Send Me!

They gathered in small groups. Some stood with their heads bowed, tears coursing down their cheeks. Others wept openly, shoulders heaving with the sobs that came between gasps for breath. Some stood stoically, but resolutely.

This scene was repeated no less than six times in my presence. Others witnessed similar scenes unfold before them.

In all, I think the final tally of the recent missions conference will reveal that close to one hundred men, women, youth, and at least one young boy all answered the call of God to be on mission with him. Some will stay here, but find ways to be involved in their church's missionary endeavor. A few will go to some foreign land. A few will cross over the mountains and minister in the Amazon jungles.

None will ever be the same again. God spoke their names. He whispered into their hearts and called them out. His Spirit nudged them forward. I suspect some were pushed along; I know I was 23 years ago. I hope I am not the only hard-head left in the world! I suspect others were slowly led to this point of commitment. For some, it was the first time God had spoken to them and they responded as soon as they heard. God bless them for it!

None will ever be the same again. Not even I, and I was one of the messengers. All of us said, "Here am I, Lord! Send me!"

Calling Out the Called

I am in a major missions conference this week. It is with my friends from the Christian and Missionary Alliance churches. I was floored when they asked me to participate in this conference of mega-proportions. I was humbled even more when I sat with the other two principal speakers. I felt like a small child amidst "giants" of the faith. These two men are Davids, armed with a sling and smooth stones, going up against Goliath and his brothers. I came with a pea-shooter, by comparison.

The two men and I will each speak at least thirteen times in a total of 6 different churches; that's twice in each church and once at the missions fair. We will challenge men and women to give, go, and pray. We are calling out the called. And some are responding. It is my sincere hope that someone will close the conference with an invitation to publicly repsond to the call to missions. I believe God wants to mobilize the good men and women of the CMA churches to go into all the world.

Last night I taught around two thousand men and women about what to do when one is called to missions. So now that I have said that, let me ask my friends who may read this: what would you tell someone to do who felt called to missions and/or ministry? I am interested in hearing your opinions.

Also, someone asked me last night, "How do I know if I have been called?" What you you say to that question? How would you respond?

These are exciting days in South America. God is raising up a mighty army to storm the gates of Hell all around the world. I am humbled beyond words to know that I have been able to play a very small part in His plans.

The Joy of Making Others Weep

Today I watched a grown man cry. In fact, I made him cry. But I did not cry with him. In fact, I laughed. The more tears he wiped away, the more I laughed. Such cruelty. Such hardness. Not really. Not this time.

The man cried for joy. A little more than a month ago he lost his car to a hit and run driver. When some acquaintances in the United States learned of his plight, they were moved with compassion and to action. They took up a love offering and sent it with me to him. So I was the messenger for this dear brother. So the man cried and I laughed, all of it for the joy of the Lord.

He kept saying, "I knew God would take care of me; I never expected it to be all at once." And he would cry some more; I would laugh some more. Before long, his tears gave way to laughter, too.

After all, we serve that kind of God. Sometimes, when the chips are down, when we don't know which way to turn or what to do, God shows up. He scoops up a handful of whatever we need and sends it our way. Sometimes that is something tangible, like money. Sometimes it is hope. Sometimes it is peace. It's always exactly what we need for the moment.

Don't misunderstand me. God did not bless this man instantaneously. The man has struggled for more than a month. His car was his livelihood. He drives for a living. No car, no money; no money, no food. No food, no rent, no lights, no water, nothing. But God is good. And God saw his faithfulness in spite of the severe trial he faced. And God answered with a physical blessing.

I also know that sometimes God says, "Not this time." I don't always know why God does that. But I do know that many times God holds back the blessings to teach us that, "Man shall not live by bread alone, but by every word that proceeds from the mouth of God." Faith in God's words is more important than faith in God's blessings.

But this was one of those times that God let us see a blessing unfold. And it was a wonderful occasion. The man left here with a spring in his step and a stronger hope in his heart.

Who knows; maybe you can go make someone cry today. If you do, be sure it brings fruits of faith in the person's life.

The Next Pitch

I just returned from south Tennessee, just north of Corinth, MS and west of Memphis, TN. It was my turn at the plate. By day I was to seek out men and women who may be interested in volunteering for a mission trip. By night I was the guest preacher for my host church. It was a splendid time.

We were situated just off Shiloh National Military Park, one of the famous sites of the Civil War. I went there to walk in the shade of the beautiful trees. I oohed and aahed over the beauty around me. I enjoyed the wildlife: deer, turkey, and other animals promenaded about us.

At the same time I pondered the complexity of mankind. Thousands of men died in this quiet, beautiful spot. Nobody won; everyone lost. It was a bittersweet place to walk. I was able to clear my head, to think. And I waited for the next pitch.

There were no curves thrown on this leg of the trip. Things went as expected; well, almost.

I expected to see men and women moved by the Spirit of God. Some were. Far too many did not seem to be impressed by God's presence. Perhaps they will be in some future date. One thing I do know: those moments were preserved somehow in eternity.

I hit the proverbial balls that were pitched to me. Now I must wait and see what results those hits will bring.

I almost sat out for the last inning. I am glad I did not. This morning I spoke with about eight men who now burn with the Spirit's fire. Their hearts burn for the lost around the world.

I have to call that a good hit.

When Life Throws a Curve Ball

I watched a baseball game today between my favorite team and one of my least favorites. I watched in glee as my team's pitcher struck out players, or as the fielders skillfully handled the balls that came their way.

I have always enjoyed watching the pitcher. But more than that, I have always enjoyed hitting a well-pitched ball. So did those 18 men I watched play. But more than once today the different pitchers would throw a very well-placed curve and strike out their opponent.

And so I was reminded that life can be like that; for I was watching that game from within the confines of a comfortable hospital room. Now I am here in North America so I can recruit men and women to help me in South America. I had all my game plan laid out long ago. I had my visits lined up. I knew how much time I had for each planned event, including down time with my two older daughters, my mother, and my siblings, as well as my in-laws. It was carefully planned.

Then came the curve. It was so skillfully pitched that I never saw it coming. So for four precious days I sat in one hospital room or another, seeking some way to remedy the problem that arose. The problem in and of itself is not germane to this discussion. Some of you have been thrown curves, too. You have problems that have sidelined your plans. You have been sent back to the dugout, wondering what in the name of all that is good happened.

If you are anything like I am, you wanted to kick the dirt and toss your bat into the proverbial stands. But you have to be careful doing that. You can hit someone who came to cheer you along. But don't we do it? Are we too often like the spoiled multi-millionaire ball players who hurl their bats into the stands when they are outwitted by a good pitcher? It's like they are screaming how unfair it was that someone dared throw them a curve.

But don't we do that? Don't we tend to bark at the ones who want to attempt to encourage us when we have been thrown a curve? Don't we cry that it is unfair? Someone last night told me how unfair life has been. I agree. Life is unfair.

It is unfair that Christ had to die in my place so that I could live with him at his place. It is unfair that he had to be separated from the Father because he was black with my sin. The stripes on his body were unfair. The beard and hair ripped from his face and head was something unfair. The crown of thorns. The unbearably heavy cross beam he was forced to carry. The spit. The ridicule. The humiliation of dying naked before men, women, and children. It was all unfair. But he did it to throw his own curve in the third inning.

It is unfair that death claims the young and old alike. I heard death cries while at that hospital. I heard disheartened families. I saw discouraged patients. I saw discouraged staff. I felt their load.

The thing that separates the best from the good is how the respond to the curve. Today I saw some smile and wait for the next pitch. I saw others leave in a huff when they struck out. I saw a few look at the pitcher with some due respect.

We need to respond well to the curves that come our way. We need to demonstrate more than a hint of godliness. We need to be examples of grace and lives molded by the Holy Spirit. We need to show our encouragers that we appreciate their encouragement.

Do not be deceived; life will throw you a curve. When it does, look well as to how you select the next pitch.

Oh, by the way, it's a new inning. I am back at homeplate, waiting for the next pitch.

Things I Learned While Traveling to America

I am in North America today--Mississippi, to be exact. South Mississippi. The land of pine trees, catfish, and Baptists. I came for a variety of reasons, none of which are relevant to this post. So let me tell you what I learned while traveling to America; it might be interesting to someone.

1. Traveling in coach has become interesting. The seats must be shrinking in width. The leg room is certainly smaller than it once was.
2. The earphones are bigger than the seats you sit in. Sticking those things in your ears can be as painful as body piercings look.
3. If you travel on a day flight if the person next to the window closes the window blind, you lose the best advantage of daytime travel.
4. Be careful what you ask immigrations officials about their equipment. It could slow you down.
5. I learned that many Americans have a steadily decreasing vocabulary. There were many who seemed to only know four-letter words.
6. I was a confirmed and fully persuaded creationist. Then I saw the baggage handlers in the Miami Airport. Now I am not so sure....
7. You can't get a Dr. Pepper on the flights between South America and North America. Never mind that they advertise them as a part of their stock soft drinks. What is this world coming to?
8. Americans are some of the most generous people on the face of the earth. I listened with great interest to a man tell of building schools in Latin America. It's all done as donations to the countries they build them in. I listened to others tell of their contributions to world missions.
9. Americans still know how to smile in the south.
10. Americans still know how to cook in the south.
11. Americans still know how to eat really big meals in the south.
12. Northerners don't know how to eat grits and eggs.
13. Many Mississippians love Jesus. They will go anywhere to serve him.

I have two more weeks in the deep south. Then it is back to South America. Pray for a positive response to the invitation to come and help us win that continent for Jesus.

Love

He loved us first. He did not have to. He was under no obligation to love us first. He just did. It's his nature. But so is justice. So is righteousness. But God chose to exercise his love. He loved us first.

We love him because he first loved us. We would not know love if he did not love us first. We might understand affection. But love? That's a God-thing. And he first loved us. So now we love him. We stretch our arms upward to him, wanting to be held. And accepted. To be with him. It's something that happens when you love someone. You want to be with them. You want to deny yourself because he loved you first. You don't mind taking up your cross. You want to follow.

You can trust him because he loves you. Because if he loves you, you can know he wants the best for you. It may not look like the best thing. But his love is steadfast. So you can trust him.

We love one another because he first loved us. If God did not love me first, I don't know if I could love you. Not the way I am supposed to. But God loved me first. So I now I can love you, even when you are unlovable. Now you can love me, even when I show my ugly side to you.

We love our enemies because he first loved us. I was his enemy. I raged against him. I plotted evil in my bed. I twisted the truth to fit my point of view. I--well, you get the picture. Yet, while was his enemy, God sent Jesus to suffer my penalty. He took my punishment and applied that to his own Son. Then he offered me a pardon. He offered me peace. He offered full forgiveness.

Now I can love my enemies. I can love the men or women who ripped up 600 feet of hand rails off new stairs we built on the steep hillsides of one community. I can love the man who stole cement to make a new patio in front of his store. Because God loved me first, I can walk two miles with the one who asked me to walk one.

Love is there, right along with hope and faith. But faith did not send Christ to the cross for me. Hope did not send him to the cross for me. It was love. The greatest of these is love.

Faith

My last words were based on the need for hope. Hope is such an important thing. Hope often becomes our legs in dark times. Hope becomes a soft pillow instead of stone for our head. Hope lifts our head, our heart. But hope is misplaced when unaccompanied by faith. It becomes wishful thinking.


But faith gives hope its strength. Faith is the thing that can produce hope within us.


In his great work My Utmost for His Highest Oswald Chambers wrote:

Faith is not some weak and pitiful emotion, but is strong and vigorous confidence built on the fact that God is holy love. And even though you cannot see Him right now and cannot understand what He is doing, you know Him. Disaster occurs in your life when you lack the mental composure that comes from establishing yourself on the eternal truth that God is holy love. Faith is the supreme effort of your life—throwing yourself with abandon and total confidence upon God.

I work with a lot of hopeless people. It's not an economic thing; some of them are wealthy beyond my dreams. A tithe of their money would facilitate a lot of ministry here! They are hopeless because they have a misplaced faith.

Sometimes they have faith in faith itself. That is almost always the case among those who follow prosperity theology. They don't see God as the object of their faith; instead, God is the servant of their faith. Their faith is in their praying, not in the God who answers. And when He does not come through, well hope wanes and often dies.

Others have placed their faith in an image, or an icon, or in a religion. I know a few Baptists like that. I know a few Methodists like that, too. I know too many people like that. They trust something other than God. And without faith, said the author of Hebrews, you cannot please God. That is not carte blanche for us. We cannot claim that verse and then believe whatever. God must be the object of our faith. Abraham believed God and God wrote it up as righteousness for him.

I spoke with a woman this week who has a misplaced faith. So her hope is also weak. Her faith is in me. Yes, in me. She said that she wished I would return to their community and do the teaching, because then she could return to the paths of the Lord. A friend of mine once warned that our people group almost worships the missionary as a god. May we reject such a notion when it appears! I told the woman she was not on the Lord's path because she made a choice not to be there. If I allowed her to place her faith in me, what kind of man would I then be? If she could place her faith in me, when I left--and one day I will--then her hope would likely leave, because the object of her faith left.

Consider the megachurches in the world, especially the United States, where great, eloquent, appealing men of God have fallen. Soon thereafter many walk away from their faith because the object of their faith let them down. That will always happen with a misplaced faith. It's a false faith. It's an empty faith. It's a hopeless faith.

When Elisha left the place where Elijah was taken up from him, he came to the Jordan River with the mantle that Elijah had dropped. Elisha struck the water and cried out, "Where is the LORD God of Elijah?" (2 Kgs. 2:14) His faith was properly placed. It was not in his former teacher/mentor; it was in the only one who deserves to be the object of our faith.

Is your hope weak today? Consider examining your faith, too. If you shift your "faith-gaze" to the Lord, I think you will find your hope, right were you left it.

Hope

In my last post I spoke of a young man we took to the hospital. I learned yesterday that the young man had tried to commit suicide. He drank some kind of poison--probably rat poison. What moves a young teen to such despair? How can one so young believe that life is so empty that the only solution is to end it?

The boy's plight is tragic, to say the least. His father is nowhere to be found. I think he left ages ago. His mother has to earn a living by selling second-hand goods and candies on the street. Those of you in developing countries may have seen such a scene. There are men, women, or children standing on the road, holding a bag of candy. They climb onto the buses or tap on car windows, offering their goods. You can get six pieces of hard candy for about 35 cents.

My sources tell me that while the mother sold her goods, the boy drank. A lot. He spent many days quite drunk, in fact. Where does a 14-year-old get booze? What kind of pervert would sell or give it to him? Better a millstone be hung around his neck!!

So this young man is in the hospital, recovering from a self-inflicted injury. I don't know if he will be the same again. His nervous system was affected. He was already losing his eyesight when we got him there. I am praying for a different kind of eyesight. I am praying for him to see hope in the midst of a miserable life circumstance.

With the bad news flowing around the world today, with men waving weapons and executing people at will, before destroying their own lives, with men and women railing at God, we still need to have a clarion voice that there is hope in Jesus.

Life on a Hillside

This morning, Victor (one of our helpers) and I went to a section of town called Las Torres de la Rinconada. It means, "The Towers in the Corner." It's a very appropriate name. The community is up on a high hill, towering over the other communities. We are helping them with a community development project. This area is a high-risk landslide zone. So we are using general relief funds, given by Southern Baptists for this kind of work, to build retaining walls and sets of stairs up and down the very steep hills.

It's a hard life that they have to live. There is no running water in this part of our city. What lights they have are from makeshift connections, pulled from a part of town where there are power cables. In other words, they steal the electricity from an electrified zone. So the wires are thin, mostly useless for the long distances they have to pull the power.

Today we went to check on the progress of the work and then to lead those interested in a Bible study. Some 35 adults, plus a few small children came to the study. It was a precious sight to see. Some of them actually knew something about the Bible. Others seemed to know the Lord. Victor taught. He shared a lesson about the Law of God. The whole point, of course, is that the Law cannot save; only Jesus saves. When his lesson culminated in the plan of salvation, about half the adults indicated that they wanted to repent and place their faith in the Lord Jesus. It was a blessed moment, but a short-lived one.

As we took time to register the professions of faith, one of the residents of the community called to me from outside. She looked concerned. She looked very concerned. Her name, incidently, is Mercy. Mercy told me that a 14-year-old boy had fallen some 2 hours earlier and could not get up. I called out and had one of the men go up and bring him down so that we could take him to the hospital. We were in Victor's borrowed car. The boy's name is Junior. We laid him on the back seat, borrowed some oil from a store owner, anointed the boy, and prayed for him. Then we drove like crazy to the hospital.

The boy could not feel his legs, though he did have some motion. He cried with fear. He trembled. My prayer all the way to the hospital was that God not let that boy die. He is old enough to know that he is a sinner. We did not believe today was the appropriate time to share the gospel with him, or with his mother. Some may use such an emotional moment. I did not want a "fox-hole conversion." I want to see Junior up and walking, and able to listen to the gospel. So I prayed for healing and for his life. Mercy rode in the back seat, along with Carlos, the man who carried Junior to the car.

We take so much for granted. We have so much that we often become blind to the reality that grips others. As one man said to me yesterday, if someone is poor and has Jesus, he is just a poor man. If, on the other hand, he is poor and does not know the Lord, he is in misery. God help us remember what is was like to be miserable! And God help us to be able to rejoice with those who rejoice, but weep with those who weep!

The Dummies' Guidebook to Planting Churches

The longer I am somewhere in South America, the more I realize that I don't know much. One thing I thought I knew that now I know I do not know is the easy way to plant a church. I mean, shucks, it sounds easy; you just get a few folks (a lot, if you can) saved, get them baptized, gather them into a group, and voila! You have a church. Now I am not so sure. It's not so easy. I heard a woman Sunday morning who has been at it over in Spain for the past 18 years. In 18 years, she has been a part of forming a church with 14 baptized members. Eighteen years. Fourteen members. Whew! I thought I had it tough!

So if someone out there has written a guidebook for dummies on church planting, feel free to mail it to several hundred of us who are still looking for that magic bullet.

In the meantime, consider the following about effective church planting, shared with me by a beloved brother who must remain nameless, due to his location:

• Prayer and fasting should be a regular practice. It should not be an occasional thing.
• There must be extensive personal evangelism. To be clear, this means sharing the gospel in one-on-one, not mass, settings. It means sharing with as many as one's team can share with. It means being intentional, looking for a decision.
• Train new believers and create the expectation that they are to train others.
• Train new believers in groups; those training groups will work to become churches.
• If you want to multiply the number of your churches, multiply the number of training groups.
• Train as many believers as you possibly can. Get as many together as possible.
• Training must be practical. The learner must be sent out to put his training into practice.
• Give them one lesson at a time and send them out to put that into practice by teaching it to someone else. Whoever does not complete the lesson cannot come back into the class he or she began with. He must start over.
• Teach your new believers to obey Scripture. Put that part of the Great Commission into practice (hint: it says, "teaching them to OBEY..."
• Get back to the basics. Be radical. Don't bring traditions and culture into the training. Stick to the Bible.

There are more ideas. Perhaps some of you want to add your own two cents to the list.

Jesus is Lord in South America!

Business as Usual?

It was the day after the evening Passover celebration. That day before was ugly enough. Three men had been executed for their crimes. Roman executions are always ugly. But these men deserved it. Two were common thugs; good riddance to such scum! One was sentenced and executed for being "King of the Jews." For those Pharisees and Sadducees who so longed for Jesus' death, this title was a slap in the face. Even in his death Jesus defied them, the established authorities of the Jews.

But they were rid of the pest now. He is in the renegade Joseph's tomb. Yes, renegade. Joseph has jumped ships. He has declared himself to be a follower of this would-be Messiah.

For the tens of thousands who live in Jerusalem and the surrounding area, now it's business as usual. There is a big mess to clean up. Scraps from the Passover preparation need to be thrown out. Scores of carcasses have to be disposed of. Gehenna will burn hot for several days with all this garbage.

The leaders of the Sanhedrin sigh with guarded relief. Pilate has believed them and has placed a sizeable guard over the tomb of Jesus. They believe that if they make it one more day, then life will go on; it will be business as usual. Their great concern now is to repair the temple curtain, ripped from top to bottom. They think it was an earthquake that did it. There was an earthquake. If they had had eyes to see spiritual things, perhaps they would have seen the hands of God shaking the earth. Perhaps they would have seen angels of God grabbing that curtain on each side, and tearing it in two. But they did not; they could not see it. They are spiritually blind. For them, the business is cleaning up the ugly mess this man Jesus created.

Hidden away, out of sight of the rest of the world, are many frightened, confused disciples. Nothing has worked out like they thought it would. Their minds are riddled with questions. Where was God when Jesus was arrested? Where was God when Jesus was tried? Where was he when they nailed him to the cross? Didn't even Jesus cry out and ask why God had forsaken him? Where was he? Why didn't he stop this? Why did he let this happen to begin with? How can he be quiet while these miserable excuses for men go on, business as usual? Now nothing will be the same. Rumor has it that even Peter has gone back. Someone said he even denied Jesus.

In another realm, in another place, it is anything but business as usual. This Jesus is disturbing the established order. He is standing tall and strong. He is not bound! He is preaching to the entire realm of the dead. Those who walked by faith listen with joy. Those who walked in unrighteousness cringe in fear. Demons huddle, cowering. The one they conquered has actually conquered them. It can never be business as usual here ever again. Jesus has snatched up the keys of death. He has raised them high and, with a lion-like roar, declares victory over death's dark domain. It won't be long before Jesus is raised from the dead and demonstrates to his grieving friends and followers that God's plan was a perfect one. Now they can be freed from the chains that bind them. They can be empowered to follow Jesus like they said they wanted to.

Here we are, some 2,000 years later. We are watching the world around us. For too many, it is business as usual. They have never even been allowed to hear the name of Jesus. They are completely ignorant of who Jesus is, much less what he did for them. Life goes on. It is business as usual.

Others know something of this Jesus. They will even appear in some religious festival. Then they will disappear into their business. As usual. It won't even make a difference for them, other than perhaps appeasing their consciences for one more year.

What about us? What will this weekend mean for us? Will it be business as usual? Or will it become an opportunity to snatch someone from the kingdom of darkness? Or perhaps a time of intimate communion, sitting at the feet of our Master Jesus, just as Mary once did? Whatever it is, don't let it be business as usual.

Life as We Saw It, in Three Acts

I don't know how to describe the past two days. I have seen a little of everything, in terms of what you can see on the mission field in South America. I was moved by all of it. I was stirred beyond words. All I can do is try to carry you to a point you may be able to envision somewhat the scenes we not only witnessed, but participated in.

Yesterday began early, relatively speaking. We went to a new church. It is a traditional church, for what I could see. At least, the worship was traditional. We met in a converted garage. The pastor told me there were 76 present for worship. I do not know if that included me, my wife, and my daughter. I do not know if it included the little ones in the nursery, separated from us by a wall made of heavy nylon screen material. There the people loved us; they hugged us. They asked to have their photo taken with us. Seldom have we been greeted in that way. God moved in our midst. I could not say how many prayed to receive Christ at the public invitation. That is because as soon as they raised their hands to indicate they wanted to know Christ, counselors all over converged on them and took them into another part of the building. That alone was impressive to me. Equally impressive was the fact that this was their third Sunday to meet. They have grown from a dozen to over 75 in three weeks. What an exciting thing to witness!

At three I headed back to the southern part of our city. There, we seek to minister to a community called The Oasis. It is anything but that, believe me. The community of over 3,000 families was built upon a garbage dump, now covered in sand. Literally. Their houses are made of straw mats. The image above is one shot of those houses.

In the past week, the third section of this community have taken down their houses, brought in heavy equipment, and leveled much of the area. The result has been sad, in a way. Large sections of old garbage have surfaced. The area has an unpleasant stench of rotting garbage all around. There is no water. There is no electricity to speak of. Families who lived inside cubes made of straw now lay their mattresses on the garbage-infested ground. They erected makeshift tents made of one sheet of plastic or one section of matting. There the entire family sleeps. On one mattress. I showed up on this scene for the second time this week. I had hoped they would be back to "normal" by Sunday. I was wrong. They were frightened, even worried that they would lose their little plot of land.

God may use it for good. I was able to pray with over one hundred men and women, asking God to bless their endeavor to eke out a living in that small corner of the world.

Today I went to yet another community. It was not much better off than Oasis. They at least lived in houses made of thin plywood. That is better than straw mats. But this community is on a steep, barren hillside, at 1,100 feet above sea level; and the sea is only about 3 miles away. While I waited for the man I went to visit, I watched the community life go by. It was something to behold. As I looked out over the ravine at other communities in that area, I watched the water trucks make their way up the hill. They would blow their air horns, giving a long, loud blast that echoed across the rocks.

Soon one of the trucks made it to where I was. I went down to watch them unhook a hose and fill 40-gallon trash cans or barrels with water. To everyone's surprise, there was only enough water for one person. I asked what they would do. The ladies standing there told me that another truck might come later that day; otherwise they would have to wait till the next day and hope there was enough water then.

But there is a hitch to the water thing. The water is on ground level. Most of the houses are in rows above where the water truck deposited its water. The ladies and children had to come down the hillside with 5-gallon buckets to carry the water as much as 200 feet up the hill. But they are desperate for water. They have to carry it. They need it. It is life for them.

We are there because they need the water of life far more than they need the liquid stuff. My heart is burdened for them. There they are: hundreds of them. And they have no church. There is a small evangelical presence. But it is not felt. Few understand what it means to be born again.

In all three cases, we plead with the Lord of the Harvest for laborers. We long for them to know the true Lord. We dream of the day that they become water-bearers, bearing the water of life to others.

In all three cases we were reminded of the one singular truth that drives us: Jesus is Lord. And he loves these people enough that he died for them.

Vision

I have seen it; you have, too. We have seen someone's vision, as it plays out in life. I saw it last week on three different fronts. In one case, it was an old vision. In a second case, it was a new vision. In another case, it was a growing vision. Please let me explain.

In one case, as I wrote a few weeks ago, I was invited to preach at a traditonal church. It was the close to a month of missionary emphasis. I remember the church from years gone by. I remembered, as I sat there, the original vision of the founders of the church. The church was to have a particular focus; it was to reach a particular population segment of the city. That was way back in the late '80's and early '90's of last century. What happened? Did they accomplish their vision? They did not. The church began well, in terms of reaching its target group; but it has not continued well. More about that in a moment.

Last Sunday we snuck away to another church. It was amazing to see God at work. The founders of that church had a vision. The pastor had a vision, too. It was a continuation of the vision of the founders. The associate pastors had a vision. The laity involved in the nuts and bolts operation of the church also had a vision. And it moved forward, flourished, changed with the times, yet maintained its original concept. They actually tried to transplant this church's vision in other parts of the world. One of the original "visioneers" admitted that their attempts were not well-received.

During the week I had the privilege of attending the opening day of a local seminary. It's a new seminary. The truth is, I think many would call it a Bible institute; but that's not the point. The rector of this seminary pointed out their vision. Since the seminary is new, we can assume the vision is relatively new, too. At the present, the participants, both faculty and students, are pumped. And the seminary is operating according to the vision the rector proclaimed.

In each case, there was a vision in place. In one case, the original vision could not even be seen. In another, the original vision was in place, yet modified to accomodate the hour. In the third case, the jury is still out.

There is someting important that stands out to me: carrying out a vision is hard work! The first church I mentioned did not lose its vision; it was just too hard to continue that vision. It was easier to allow the vision to quietly disappear and to allow the church to become whatever it could become. When the founders left, instead of seeking like-minded leadership, those present accepted whatever came along (don't take that in terms of doctrine, only in terms of vision). So the original vision eventually died. As in the case of the Hebrews in Egypt, "There arose a pharaoh who did not know Joseph." When one visits that church now, aside from its location, there is no evidence of the original vision. They do not reach the original target population segment. They are so far-removed from that original target group, that only a miraculous move of God would make it possible.

In the second case, the founders' orginal vision is still operating, but growing. The pastors have worked hard to continue the vision, but with the proper adjustments to be able to communicate the vision in today's realities. This church is actually older than the first church I mentioned. Yet it is far more vibrant, looks and feels less tradtional, and has an influence that reaches far and wide. They keep things simple, yet they work very hard to keep things flowing (in accordance with the Holy Spirit's presence, as well as their vision).

Something else is obvious to me: when vision is not communicated often and in the simplest of terms, it tends to degenerate. Look at today's church. Everywhere we turn, someone is lamenting today's church. Someone bemoans the fact that today's church doesn look anything like what they believe the church looked in the days of the Apostles. In other words, the original vision degenerated and something else took its place.

Someone once told me that such programs as Evangelism Explosion or Continuing Witness Training have a life of three generations. They degrade after the second one. Why would that be? Answer: the workers tend to fail to communicate the original vision. I think that is one reason why "new" programs are invented.

We are speaking a lot on different blogs about simplifying the church. That's fine. I won't argue that point either way. I will say this: whatever form the church takes, if it is to be effective, the church's vision should be simple, communicated simply, and the leaders must work hard to ensure that all they do fits within that vision.