At the end of your days, what legacy will you leave?

Funerals always make me introspective.  At my church, my pastor likes to have an “open mic” during the service for friends and family to share special memories of their loved one.  I always enjoy this because it helps me to better know my friend or loved one who has passed.   The stories shared make us laugh and make us cry.

At a recent funeral I attended, over and over people talked about how this gentleman would help anyone.  The piano teacher shared how when he saw that her yard was unkempt, he came over and mowed her lawn.  When he was on the job in downtown Wilmington, he met an elderly man and renovated his home.  For free.  He always took tools with him to people’s homes in case they needed him to fix something.

Serving.  Giving.  Caring.  What a legacy.

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The truth is that sometimes I don’t like being me

I have had a love/hate with my personality for 45 years now.  This came to a head recently when I was doing a “personal inventory” of my life for an upcoming speaker’s conference.  The questionnaire asked, “What is your greatest regret?”  As I considered many aspects of my life, my marriage, my parenting, relationships, profession, education, etc., I settled on this one thought.

My greatest regret is being me.

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After grief, I have found a tenuous peace

This past September, I was dangerously close to walking away from my faith.  I was SO angry at God, railing at Him because my son was sick.  Again.  Not just a cold or a stomach virus, but sick.  The kind that involved doctor’s offices, recurring labs, scary medications, and procedures.  And I was so ticked at God for allowing this to happen.  I needed someone to blame, and God was at the center of my bullseye.

At that point I was scared.  I was scared that if something worse happened to me or those I love, I could turn my back on God and walk away from Him forever.  FOREVER.  I understood the anger and bitterness that many feel when they experience devastating, heart-breaking life events.  And it scared me that I would consider walking away from the Heavenly Father that I loved so much.  I was (this) close to just being done with God.

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Dredging up compassion for the suffering and desperate

This is a guest post that I wrote that was posted today on the Haiti Awake blog.  You can read it there using this link.  http://www.haitiawake.org/news/2016/11/21/dredging-up-compassion-for-the-suffering-and-desperate or, because I want to make things easier for you, you can read it below! 

I’m sitting in a big comfy desk chair staring at my oversized computer screen.  Looking back at me is Haitian woman and her child whose home was destroyed by Hurricane Matthew.  My home consists of carpet, tastefully painted walls, and a solid roof to keep us protected.  Her home is no longer a home, but a thrown together shanty made of broken sheets of iron.

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I look at the rubble and trash and rocky ground around her home and I just can’t understand as my home is surrounded by a pristine carpet of St. Augustine grass.  I see her shoeless feet standing on the concrete slab and I think of my recently painted purple toe nails.  But then I notice in the picture her one year old son standing in the makeshift doorway of her dwelling.  He’s naked.  And I think, “Where is his diaper?”  My western mind hasn’t connected that a shoeless, nearly homeless woman would not be able to buy diapers.  Wow.

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I continue to stare at her but honestly, I struggle to have compassion for her.  I continue staring at the computer screen waiting for compassion to erupt from some deep place in my heart.  But it doesn’t.  I wait, and still, nothing.  It’ difficult for me to dredge up empathy for this poor woman because I cannot relate to her situation. I cannot comprehend her desperation.  I have shoes, a home, and children that are dressed head to toe.

I continue to read about this desperate mother, Moline, and her family.  She has three children.  She sells fish at the nearby beach.  Her husband is a fisherman.   And then I read a sentence that does produce a reaction in my heart:

“We could not help her and her family…”

And I am cut to the heart.  Because, you see, while my heart may struggle with compassion and empathy to relate to a woman I will never know, God’s Holy Spirit lives in me.  God knows this shoeless woman that I will never know.  He sees her ramshakle dwelling and her diaperless child.  He hears the hidden wailings of her heart that I will never hear.  He cares for Moline oh so much.

And God sees me.  God knows that I have the means to help this woman.  He knows that recently one of my monthly bills was eliminated and I have some extra room in my budget. And God knows that when He speaks to me about this money, I will listen.  Although I often resist and question, I will eventually obey.  Jesus, after all, is my example.  God hears the silent prayer of my heart, my surrender, “Not my will, O God, but yours be done.”

My heart is moved to action and these extra funds in my budget will now be sent every month to Haiti Awake, a ministry on the ground in Haiti that helps real families like Moline and her diaperless child.  I know that my US dollars will make a sizeable different for families in Haiti.  And even though I still may not understand or comprehend their plight, I will make a difference.

I will touch Haiti – not with my hands and feet – but with my heart.  God’s heart.

What about you?  Is God speaking to your heart to be a monthly supporter of Haiti Awake?   They need monthly support they can depend on, which allows them to plan, to grow, and to follow where the Lord is leading.  Whether you can share $10, $25, $50 or more, God will use it to care for the Molines and families like hers in Haiti.  Please prayerfully consider giving to this ministry.  You can donate online using the link below:

https://www.paypal.com/donate/?token=CgPN_RfeeIYPL4edcjvZD6SjeQBhDT43vvoOTfp7qrr35CKknssqhtR70oECqx3B_9fwrG

or to becoming a monthly supporter, contact Haiti Awake at rick@haitiawake.org.

 

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Don’t let your sinful heart build a wall between God & you

I’ve felt separated from God lately.  I know from experience that my feelings of *space* between us is not because God has moved away from me, but because I have moved away from God.  I’ve not purposely set out to put distance between God and me, but it is happened over time.  And as I examine my life to figure out why I feel this distance, there can only be one answer:

SIN.

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Are you the “poor in spirit” that Jesus calls blessed?

I got out of my car and hugged my friend.  No, it was more than a hug…it was an strong embrace, and I didn’t want it to ever end.  I typically don’t enjoy hugs (it’s a sensory thing) but on this night, I needed her hug.  I needed the strength of my friend to hold the broken pieces of my life together.  I needed the strength of her spirit to communicate with mine that it all was going to be okay.

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I’m courageously launching a speaking ministry

I remember the moment as if it were yesterday.  I was at a prayer meeting at my church.   For many years I went to a Friday morning prayer meeting, dragging along my homeschooling kids with their backpacks full of workbooks.  And now the children were entering high school.  I looked at them, and me, and them, and me, wondering what “me” would look like after “them.” What would I do when they left home?

God spoke to me three things, and like a good little type A personality, I made a list:
1) Become a trained Precept Inductive Bible study teacher
2) Attend “She Speaks,” the Proverbs 31 Ministries conference for speakers, leaders, and writers; and
3) Learn Spanish.speaking ministry

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6 Keys to surviving your next crisis

The phone rang.  I was out working in the yard, enjoying my flowers, but I decided to run into the garage to grab it.  It was a friend in crisis calling for prayer, like many friends before her.  I found a quiet spot in the house to sit and fully listen to her story.  She had made a mistake on her taxes and potentially owed the government $13,000.  $13,000!  I did not know what to say, other than “Wow,” so I offered to pray for her.  And as I listened to Holy  Spirit and prayed for her, these keys for surviving a crisis emerged.

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Even the Son of God needed help

For the past year and a half I have struggled  with chronic facial pain.  At times it feels like I am “The Man in the Iron Mask” or like I have had multiple facelifts and chemical peels.  After multiple MRIs and CAT scans and trips to the neurosurgeon’s office and a lot of money, I still have no answers and no treatment plan.   Unless God heals me, I’m stuck with this pain for the rest of my life. I’m 45, so I have a lot of years left to live.  And the thought of living the rest of my life with this  pain is not a happy thought.

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How my grandmother attended the same church for 76 years

On a beautiful fall day five days before her 95th birthday, I buried my grandmother.  It was the first day of October and my family and I put on our funeral clothes, and made the trek to Statesville, North Carolina.  At a very old Baptist church just a couple of miles from my grandmother’s home, we gathered to share a meal, to receive friends and neighbors, and to say goodbye.

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