KathyAddis

How they must of felt on this day, the day in between. The Disciples. As the reality of what they have just witnessed sinks in, the realization that their Savior has just died. He really died. Just like He said He would. He really meant it.

How could this be? I think about of all the emotions that must be raging as they do inside us when we loose someone we love. But, somehow I think it might be even more for them. Somehow more intense, see they didn’t just loose a friend, a teacher, a mentor, and a brother. They lost Jesus.

He had called them out, by name, knowing full well what they were leaving behind. For some that was not much of a sacrifice really, but for some, it was immense. All He had to do was ask and they came. Some of them had the advantage of having their actual siblings there to help comfort each other, some must have felt very much alone.

On this day, the day in between. The day after He died on the cross and the day before Hope was born for all mankind forever. Ironically this was the Sabbath. The day when all good Jews were to stop everything they were doing and worship God.

Are you serious?

Their Lord was just crucified and now they are supposed to spend an entire day doing nothing but worshiping and thinking about God. Maybe that was the plan all along. Maybe the day in between was divinely situated so that they would have time to reflect on the words and works of their Lord and Savior. Maybe that was the whole point of the day in between.

Maybe that is still the point of the day in between? Maybe we get so caught up in getting our grocery list together for Easter dinner or making sure the kids look nice for Easter Sunday that once we get past the Good Friday service we forget to think about the day in between. We forget there was the Sabbath, a time to reflect and focus before the celebration.

Thank God the celebration is coming but let’s not lose sight of the day in between.

Unspoken prayer request. This is one of the most requested requests in today’s church.

I know when I first became a believer I would spend most of the time trying to figure out what the “unspoken” part of the request was instead of actually praying. I know that is not the point of asking for prayer with an unspoken request, but in my very humanness, that is what I would do. I’m certainly not proud of it, just being honest.

As I have matured in my faith a bit, I am beginning to realize the danger of this curiosity. If the enemy can distract me and keep me from truly bringing the need of a person to the throne of the Father, then for the moment, he wins.

The truth of the matter is that we, as the intercessors, don’t NEED to know the details of the situation. It is a privilege to know the intricacies of a circumstance, not a necessity.

“I urge you, first of all, to pray for all people. As you make your requests, plead for God’s mercy upon them, and give thanks.” 1 Timothy 2:1

The Father of course already knows full well what is happening. He doesn’t need a ‘run down’ of the person’s business. He is fully invested.

He only asks us to talk to Him about the situation on the person’s behalf. If we waste that opportunity with useless curiosity, we forfeit our chance to stand in the gap for someone who is needing us. If we can simply accept that it is none of our business what the request is and trust that the Heavenly Father knows what it is and believe that He can do what needs to be done, we become a powerful tool in the Father’s hand and a force against the enemy. May we remember our place and keep our curiosity to a minimum.

“Pray at all times and on every occasion in the power of the Holy Spirit. Stay alert and be persistent in you prayers for all Christians everywhere.” Ephesians 6:18

I am not prone to panic.

I am generally the one that stays calm through the crisis, but the instant someone tells me everything is ok, I completely fall apart. I have seen this happen several times in the course of our marriage and most certainly as we have been parents.

This time was different.

I can’t explain it and I don’t know why, but I got totally caught up in the panic. Allow me to elaborate.

This particular morning was simply like every other morning, Andy and the boys were getting ready to walk out the door for school and as usual, our youngest had forgotten to make his lunch. He asked his dad to pick him up by the garage so he could get his lunch out of the extra fridge. It was agreed Andy would pick him up in the alley and off they went, Nathan out the back door, Noah and Andy out the front.

I shuffled around the house for a minute, locked the back door and headed upstairs when I heard pounding on the back door. I assumed Nathan had forgotten something so I ran to open the door only to find one exasperated Noah looking for Nathan.

That’s where it began.

He asked where Nathan was and of course I said I thought he was with him and the search and yelling began. We began to yell for Nathan all over the back yard and garage. Ok, I have to admit I wasn’t thinking completely clearly since I actually looked IN the garage refrigerator! Noticing our confusion, Andy jumps out of the truck and without hesitation yells for me to call the police. At this point I think I was dazed, but I did as he said.

As soon as I told the 911 operator, “I can’t find my son”, it hit me: Oh dear God! I CAN’T FIND MY SON! The realization was overwhelming. At a very frantic pace and in great detail, I told her exactly what he was wearing, where we lived and the gist of the situation. Oddly, I was almost irritated at the time that she was obviously not as worried about this as I was, didn’t she realize my son was missing! Hindsight, tells me it was a very, very good thing she wasn’t as emotionally charged as I was.

I hung up and once again started running around our house and yard looking for him and yelling his name. I instructed Andy to drive Nathan’s route to his school in hopes he would see him walking. All the while I am praying some desperate, pleading prayer to our Abba Father. As I was running to the phone to call the school, an unexplainable feeling came over me.

Peace.

Not the “it’s all ok, don’t worry about it” peace, but more of the “it’s ok to be scared, but this won’t end as horrifically as you’re thinking” peace. My natural instinct was to ignore it and just keep panicking. The moments between recognizing that ‘feeling’ and hearing the school secretary telling me Nathan had just walked in the school were mere seconds, yet they seemed to take an eternity.

In true Kathy fashion, this is where I totally lost it.

I burst into tears and thanked the secretary and praised and thanked our Heavenly Father, over and over. I was somehow able to relay the message to Andy that Nathan was ok and they got off to school, completely emotionally spent. I sat in the kitchen and trembled in silence. The crying was over and all I could think about is how thankful I was and about that ‘feeling’ earlier.

I believe that God was answering my frantic, desperate prayer for my son to be okay and was trying to let me know that He really and truly is in control.

I learned something: God doesn’t panic. Ever.

I’m not entirely sure what the purpose was for that chaotic scenario, but I came away with a greater appreciation of the verse that tells us to “Be still and know that I am God” (Psalm 46:10). He saw every tiny detail of our situation, from beginning to end. I called on Him and He answered, only I was too distracted to hear Him.

My prayer is that next time my nature wants to panic, I will have the faith to trust that He is God and He is in control and to not ignore the “peace” that He grants.

But for now, I’m going to go hug my kids.

This is a ‘note’ that I wrote while I was on mission in Nairobi, Kenya last year. I’ve been thinking a lot about that trip and what God did in and through me on it. I hope this is an encouragement to you.

“Uhuru” 7/28/10 3:30am
I am lying in bed anxiously awaiting our assignment for this morning of going to ‘hang out with’ the street children and trying to process all that I have seen in the last two days.

I think what I have been most struck by so far has been “Uhuru”. The word means freedom. It is the name of one of the busiest streets in town as well as I think they said the biggest park in Nairobi. I find that interesting. There are approximately 4 million people in the city of Nairobi. I don’t know the exact number or even a close percentage, but I feel in my spirit that these 4 million people surely do not live in freedom.

They are captives. They are in chains from the government that rules selfishly and with an iron fist. They are bound by the economic structure that they in their lifetime my never escape. And many, many of these 4 million are enslaved by spiritual darkness.

I could see the passionate cry for hope in Tom and Geoffery’s eyes when we passed the park and I asked each of them at different times what “Uhuru” meant. “Freedom!” Tom quietly exclaimed with a slight smile and a gleam in his eye as he raised his tight fist half way up, as if to say “it is possible”. Geoffery had a different look when he muttered the word, even though he had to say it loudly over the incredible traffic. His face did not reflect the hope that a Savior could bring such a gift, but more to say “that is simply the name given to a park” with a slow nod of his head and a weary, forced smile.

Kenyans are so very polite. They are a very articulate people who are most attentive and overall very friendly, yet they, for the most part, live in darkness. We were told by a fellow Kenyan that because they would never intentionally be rude to visitors, many will say they “believe” so as to not reject our message and run the risk of offending. Such kindness and respect for others must surely be a godly attribute, yet it can be the tool used by the enemy to keep them from true uhuru.

As a born again believer, I have tasted and known true uhuru. I know with all that I am that true uhuru comes only from Jesus Christ and it is complete and eternal.

What I believe God is showing me is that because I have accepted and tested His true uhuru, the chains I bear are of my own doing. I have slowly and methodically allowed the enemy to convince me that I have to still carry these burdens of guilt and shame of my past. He entices me to drag the enormous weight of responsibilities that are not ordained for me. He wooes me with the promise of self glory and the attention of others when true uhuru comes from having audience of the One.

So, I suppose I have more in common with these culturally different people than I expected.

On the other hand, although I so often choose to run from Christ’s uhuru, I know He never leaves me. I know that no matter how far I run from Him, He is with me. I am halfway around the world from all that I have ever known, yet He still hems me in. He loves me no matter how many times I reject His uhuru. I know it is always there for me.

UHURU! That is the banner under which I march. As a soldier ready for battle, I am armed with true uhuru, complete and eternal. That is what I have to offer the street children this morning. That is also my prayer for the people of Kenya, true uhuru.

Asante sana Yesu for true uhuru.
“Thank You very much Jesus for true freedom.”

I am an emotional person. When I was in my late 20′s something interesting happened in my walk with my Jesus. I realized that I was ridiculously emotional about my relationship with Him. Now, before I start a riot about being charismatic versus non-charismatic, please know that is not at all what I’m talking about.

At 19 I met Jesus on the corner of Main street in downtown Picher, Ok., during a tent revival for Eagle’s Nest Fellowship of Excitement Church. As you can imagine they were very charismatic and I loved them for it!

They showed me love and acceptance and I am eternally grateful for the pastor and his wife, Lloyd and Susie Stone who were willing to house two wayward girls home from college on summer break, that being my sister and me.

I enjoyed their worship service and I learned that it really is okay to cry during worship and to show emotion toward my Savior. Again, this is not about being charismatic or not. It is about my personal journey and the lesson Jesus taught me along the way.

Fast forward about 10 years. I’ve been a Christian for almost a decade, I am married to a pastor, I have a baby and I am what you could call overwhelmed. I have a moderately consistent walk with Jesus, but I began to realize something wasn’t right. I noticed that if I didn’t have some kind of emotional ‘experience’ when I was worshipping or when I would have my quiet time, I felt like I wasn’t really ‘connecting’ with God.

It was all emotionally based.

For me, something seemed wrong with that. So I began to pray specifically about it. I prayed that God would help me to have a strong walk with Him without all the emotion, that it would be based on intellect and what I knew of His promises from His word.

It didn’t take long before I began to notice the change. At first I really loved it. I could have a deep meaningful worship experience without blowing snot and ruining my makeup. It was awesome…for a while.

After about a year I felt very dry. I loved Jesus and I knew He loved me, but I had no ‘feelings’ toward Him. I longed to be able to cry over Him. I could cry over just about anything else, just not Him. I couldn’t stand it. I believe this is when the maturing process started.

At this point I HAD to go to His word and read His promises about not leaving me and how much He truly loves me and that He is real and ever-present. I had to come to that place of believing without feeling. This was not easy for me.

I’m a girl for crying out loud!

But, eventually I remembered my prayer and realized this was a pruning process for me. For months I resigned myself to trust Him without feeling Him. Once I saw the lesson for what it was, an answer to prayer, I allowed myself to walk in it, on purpose.

To be honest, I didn’t really enjoy it. For this right brained individual, it was hard to depend on what I learned and read in His word instead of my emotions. I am in no way saying I have it figured out and am perfectly balanced in my emotions and intellect – not even close! What I am saying is that after a period of about two years, I began to earnestly pray that God would make my heart tender towards Him again and allow the tears to flow when necessary, but only when necessary.

I am so thankful He answered that prayer also. There are times when I don’t ‘feel’ His presence and I have to fight the temptation to think He doesn’t love me as much as He used to. What I now KNOW because of the proverbial drought He let me walk through so many years ago, is that He does love me and that He does want to use me and His promises are true no matter what my emotions tell me.

I also have a greater appreciation for my tears than I had before. I look back on those early years of my walk and I hate to admit that I think I manufactured some of those tears because they made me feel more ‘spiritual’.

My point is this, I think there has to be a balance between what we feel and what we know, between our emotions and our intellect concerning our relationship with our Heavenly Father.

Believe me when I tell you I have plenty of faults in my walk and there are days that I am so very out of sync, but in His grace I think God has given me a little better perspective on my personal walk with Him.

What a loving God we serve!

I had a very interesting childhood.

I lived with my Mom during the school year and spent holidays and summers with my Dad. These were two completely different worlds. Dad lived in the country and Mom lived in town. Sometimes it was a major city, but usually it was a smaller town.

I learned a lot growing up with a single Mom. Mom was married for part of my growing up, but for the most part it was just Mom and us three girls. What a trip! There was certainly an overdose of estrogen in the house, but I assure you it was rarely boring and it never lacked drama! Oddly, being the only female in my house now, with the exception of my son’s pet gerbil, I kind of miss it.

Single parents like my Mom amaze me. I am astounded sometimes at the determination and resourcefulness I remember seeing in her. She is one of ‘those’ people. You know the kind, the ones that can do anything or find a way to get it done. I know that Mom can’t physically do all that she once could, but I believe with all my heart that if she felt like it would help someone she loves she could make anything happen.

Among so many other things, I learned resourcefulness from her. When we were growing up money was very often scarce, but somehow we always had what we needed. Here is just one example:

When I was in 6th grade, our school went all out for graduation from Elementary school to Middle school. For this special occasion we had a dance after the ceremony, we called it a prom. We were expected to dress up and have hair and makeup done, the whole nine yards. Of course, I badgered my Mom relentlessly for the perfect prom dress. It had to be just so to make sure I fit in with everyone else. It was shameful.

Mom’s reply for months was, “We’ll see.” As time drew closer and closer, the more I asked. Finally two days before graduation Mom broke the news to me that we simply could not afford a new dress and if I wanted to go I would have to wear one of my sister’s old ones.

Needless to say, I was devastated. Not nearly as much as my Mom. I was too self absorbed at the time to realize it was killing her that she could not buy me the perfect dress. I know I cried and knowing me I probably threw a fit but eventually got over it and reluctantly picked out one of our ‘old’ ones.

The next two days were hard and I had decided that I would go to graduation and just skip the prom. That is until I got home from school the day of graduation. When I got home, my two older sisters drew me a bath and did my chores for me (if you have older siblings, you know how amazing this is!). When I finished soaking, they insisted on doing my hair and makeup for me. I tried to remind them that I was not going to the dance and Mom said the only way I could wear any makeup was if I was going. They ignored me and continued their task of making me feel and look beautiful.

When the time came to put on my dress I was almost in tears because I knew I would have to wear the one my sister had worn the year before. Trying to be grateful for their kindness, I slowly walked into my bedroom where laying on my bed was a brand new (to me) prom dress. I just stood there too stunned and confused to say anything. I looked over and saw my Mom and sisters staring at me from the door. Mom had big tears filling her eyes and my sisters were grinning from ear to ear. I went to that prom and felt like the most beautiful and blessed 6th grade girl on the planet.

To this day I don’t know how my Mom pulled that off and she still refuses to tell me, but it is one of my fondest memories.

As I have accepted Christ and learned what it means to trust and rely on Him to be Jehovah Jireh, my Provider, I can look back and see how He had His hand on us all along. I always believed my Mom could do anything, I still do in fact, but now I know that her strength, determination, resources and love come from Him.

Now in those times that I start to freak out over finances or how I’m going to take care of something, I try to remember all the times He has proven His faithfulness in my life. The passage in Luke 12 comes to mind:

22 Then, turning to his disciples, Jesus said, “That is why I tell you not to worry about everyday life—whether you have enough food to eat or enough clothes to wear. 23 For life is more than food, and your body more than clothing. 24 Look at the ravens. They don’t plant or harvest or store food in barns, for God feeds them. And you are far more valuable to him than any birds!

God chose to provide for us in so many different and creative ways when I was growing up and I am so thankful for a Mom who was determined to find those ways. I pray that I am showing my boys how to be resourceful, just as my Mom showed me, knowing that all good things come from the Lord and that no matter what, He will always keep His word.

There have been so many times God has showed up and showed off in the ways He has provided for me. I would love for you to brag on Him and write one of your stories of His provision.

Legacy. I’ve thought a lot about that word lately. I wonder what my legacy will be as it is lived out in the lives of my boys? This thought has caused me to look back over the legacy that I have inherited. I know full well that I have learned and have been given so much from my Mom, but lately it’s the influence my father has had on me that has my attention.

I grew up with divorced parents. Mom lived in town and Dad lived on the farm that was first homesteaded by his father. Believe me when I tell you I have plenty of stories about growing up in town, but it’s the farm I would like to talk about.

My Daddy is a cowboy. He has hundreds of acres of land in the sandy hills of western Oklahoma. He is a cattleman and a farmer. He and his wife take great pride in the ranch they have and so do I.

I recall the following not to brag, but to remember: I grew up every summer wearing cowboy boots with everything, including shorts, and working cattle. I’ve cleaned my share of stock tanks and pulled my share of weeds. I’ve logged hundreds of hours on a combine and heaved many a bail of hay on the truck. I’ve taken my turns shutting up the chickens, even when it was really dark and my siblings convinced me that the coyotes were waiting outside the door to get me.

I’ve helped take down old wooden fence posts and replaced them with the nice metal ones, trying to be so careful not to break the barbed wire when stringing it because that has a most unpleasant result! I have walked many miles through sage brush and cedar trees. I’ve pulled literally thousands of goat head stickers (if you know what they are, you know why that’s a big deal!) and have done my best not to step on devil’s claws. I’ve had a blast swimming in red clay water and fished by hand, though not something I wish to ever do again.

I’ve had mountain oysters and carrots straight from the ground. I’ve caught, killed, cleaned and cooked the chicken, at that point I had no desire to eat it, but I did since it was what was for dinner. I’ve helped change the jet rods in a windmill and gathered eggs. I’ve been chased by a bull and have ridden a calf. I’ve picked vegetables and helped can them. I’ve saddled a horse and ran it until we were both winded. I’ve helped brand and castrate cattle. I know how to tag a cow and read brands.

Brands. My family has a brand that my Grandpa created, “flying HD”. It doesn’t mean anything to you, but it causes pride to swell up in me, the good kind. When I see it, flashes of my Dad and his Dad working hard on fixing something or pushing their cowboy hat back from their sweat soaked foreheads while talking about the best place for the cows to pasture. I see my Grandma picking berries to make jelly and watching her fix a huge lunch for all of us after we have worked since practically sun up. I can instantly picture my Dad putting his boots back on after the evening meal when someone called and said a cow was out or down. I can see my Dad washing not just his hands but all the way up to the elbow since you get dirty all the way up your arm when you work outside all day.

Some of the life lessons that were ingrained in me in that hot Oklahoma sun were, look a person in the eye when you talk to them, always give your elder your seat, a firm handshake tells a lot about a person, disrespect is not tolerated, take a gift with a smile and a thank you regardless if you like it or not, you’re only as good as your word, when at a buffet truly make it all you can eat, never let a dog chase your chickens, don’t interrupt, family always comes first and always, always, always close the gate behind you.

Though these are not necessarily ‘spiritual’ things, they are a part of my foundation and that which I hope to pass on to my children. I know that many of these things were instilled in me by my mother as well, but there is just something about watching these attributes, attitudes and actions played out in the life of a cowboy.

As my father put it to me, he is probably the last of the cowboys in his line of my family. This makes me sad because of what that land and life has meant to me, but I know his legacy lives on in me and in my siblings. And just because I don’t don the cowboy hat and a belt with my name on it, my heart is still very tender toward that lifestyle. When I am in that area, I often find myself just looking around trying to take it all in while I am mentally swept back in time.

While my prayer is to pass these values on to my children, it is very important to me to lay the foundation of Christ first. I pray my kids are grounded in their walk with their Savior and these things I’ve talked about are a natural result of that walk.

May my legacy be one that makes my Heavenly Father proud, the good kind.

I’ve been doing this Bible study that asked how I know God has tried to communicate with me in the past. I could think of lots of ways really. He is, after all very creative. The study then asked if He has ever used a song to communicate with me. I would like to share my answer with you.

Yes, God has used songs many times to comfort, convict and encourage me. Oddly, the one time that stands out the most I can’t even remember the song. It was after I had really REALLY messed up and I had been carrying the full weight of my guilt and shame. (Please don’t try to guess what my sin was, first it’s probably not what you’re thinking and second, I wouldn’t tell you anyway.)

The weight was literally crushing me. I was to the point of seeing suicide as a possible option since I had so bought into the enemy’s lie that I had messed up more than God could forgive me or love me through.

I don’t remember where I was or even what I was doing but I heard this song. I must have heard it before because I remember knowing the words to it. I was just singing along while wallowing in my self destructive guilt, shame and pity when all of a sudden the reality of the words I was singing became so clear. The song was about praising God for His amazing forgiveness and love for us. Suddenly these words I had sung so many times before actually made sense. I remember it literately took my breath away as I sang to the Lord with all my heart and He lifted the burden from me!

He didn’t take away the consequences that I still had to face, but at that moment I KNEW I would not have to face them alone. For the first time in what seemed like forever, I had hope again. I was still scared of what lay ahead of me, but I knew my Jesus loved, really loved, me and would walk with me through the storms that were sure to come.

The song wasn’t the hope I needed, but it was the catalyst God used to bring me back. The fact that I can’t remember the name of the song or even how it goes just proves to me that He did not intend for the song to change my life, but it was only to be a reminder of the truth I already knew but was refusing to allow myself to fully accept; that God the Father, Jesus Christ, and the Holy Spirit love me and will never leave me, no matter what.

I don’t know how many times He has made Himself known to me through the words others have sang to Him and allowed me to join. I am so grateful for the ability to make a “joyful noise” to my Lord.

If you tend to be one of those folks who like to leave early before or during the worship to beat the crowd to your favorite restaurant, I encourage you to stay. Please allow yourself the opportunity to sing to the Father of Life. After all, we have been given such a blessing in being able to freely come to Him in praise. It is our chance to give back what little we have to offer to our Creator.

You may or may not like the way worship is done where you go to church, but honestly, it’s not for you. It’s for Him. Besides, you never know how He may be wanting to speak to you through those songs.

Oh, sing to the Lord a new song! Sing to the Lord, all the earth. Psalm 96:1

If you have had a similar experience with a song that touched your heart and helped you hear the Lord, please share it with me. I would love to know that I am not the only one…

I love to drive. That is one thing I miss about living in the metroplex of Dallas/Ft. Worth. I love to drive fast, weaving in and out of traffic. I love the challenge of getting to the merge lane before it’s too late. I don’t particularly miss sitting in traffic for hours at time, but seeing if I can get in the lane that is actually moving fast is quite a rush.

Man, I miss that.

Anyway, I should love to drive, I’ve done it since long before I was big enough to see over the dashboard.

I remember one of the thrills of living in the country was it being my turn to sit on my daddy’s lap and ‘drive’ down the 3 mile dirt road to his house from the highway. I realize I didn’t do much real driving for many of those years, but I fell in love with the idea of being in control of that machine.

I would sit on dad’s lap and hold the wheel “10 & 2″ thinking I had it all under control. All the while my very wise father was secretly holding the bottom of the steering wheel. I was too busy concentrating on keeping my wheels in the ruts to even notice. That is until I would get distracted or jerk the wheel for any number of reasons.

It was at that point I felt my dad’s big, weathered hand grab the wheel and most certainly take control.

It was both comforting and scary to me. I would jump because just as I felt like I was getting out of line, he would rescue me and I immediately knew he would tell me in no uncertain terms what I did wrong. I was always thankful he was there and always frustrated with myself for messing up.

I find that scenario played out so many times in my walk with my heavenly Daddy as well. Just when I think I have this life totally under control, I inevitably get distracted or start to careen off the edge. It’s then I feel His big, loving hand get me back on track.

Sometimes it is with a wild, unmistakable jerk.

Sometimes it is a slow weave back, but I am always thankful He is there.

He also has a knack for pointing out the reasons I was loosing it. And, yes, I am always frustrated with myself for messing up. Again.

I suppose that is why my favorite verse, although I find it is difficult to have a real favorite since there are so many amazing ones to choose from, is Hebrews 13:5, specifically the second half of the verse:

‘Let your conduct be without covetousness; be content with such things as you have. For He Himself has said, “I will never leave you nor forsake you.”’

I do so love that my dad was there to keep me from doing something destructive behind the wheel of his old truck and I am so much more grateful for a heavenly Daddy who promises to never just sit by and let me do something destructive with this old life. He will never leave us or forsake us.

What a promise.

When you feel the jerk of the big, weathered hand of our Heavenly Father, let Him do what only He can do, keep our lives on the road.

I want to tell you about a new friend I made by the name of “Grizzly Bear”. I don’t know much about him, but the impact of our introduction has changed a part of me forever.

Not long ago I was asked to attend a Women of Faith Conference in Las Vegas, Nevada. Sin City. I had never been there before, but it is no mystery how it has earned it’s nick name! Yep, leave it to God to have one of the largest gatherings of Godly women in one of the ungodliest cities. I love it. I will say that the women I met from that area were amazing women who very outwardly love Jesus.

I was there with a ministry coordinator, and three other pastor’s wives from our area. Some had been there before and some had not. Our reactions were very similar; excited to see it, glad for the experience, but ready to come home.

While we were there we had the opportunity to spend a few hours walking up and down the strip. It was quite an eye opener. Before I went on this trip, I knew that we would be walking around and potentially meeting other people that needed Jesus. So I asked God to give me the opportunity to share Him with others and to SEE the chance and then have the courage to actually do it.

You see, I am not what you would consider a “cold contact evangelist”. I get very nervous and feel tongue tied and awkward when trying to share my faith with someone I don’t know. Even with someone I do know sometimes. So I really tried to spiritually prepare for any interaction He may have for me.

While we were walking over one of the pedestrian bridges on the strip, I saw him. He was sitting against the plexiglass wall of the bridge with his ‘beverage’ on one side, the rest of his belongings on the other and his cup for ‘donations’ in front of him. As we passed by I looked down and gave him my obligatory smile. I was shocked to make contact with a set of the bluest eyes I have ever seen. They were as bright as the afternoon sky which seemed so out of place, settled deep in the hairiest face I could imagine. His beard which literally covered his entire face was salt and pepper gray and very full but, trimmed. His grooming was far from neat, but it was obvious that he had taken some time to comb his mass of hair. Actually I was impressed.

I made a quick analysis of his situation and a quick judgement of him as I continued to walk by and it was if God thumped me on the back of the head and said, “Hey! You just missed your chance girlie! Get back there and talk to him!” I was so shocked by the spiritual slap on the head I instantly turned around and went back to him. Without really thinking about it I pulled just a few dollars out of my camera case (yes, I am a shameless tourist) and knelt down and put it in his cup. He looked at me and gave me the same smile that he had given a million times and said, “Thank you young lady!” It was obvious this was not his first day on the bridge.

It was so crazy, but as soon as he said that to me, my anxiety faded and I felt so comfortable talking to this complete stranger. I instantly saw in him the need we all have of a loving Savior and I felt the love Jesus wanted him to know. I had no choice but to tell him that Jesus loves him and has a plan for his life. He admitted that he knew this already and that he prays to him “every *!#@% day!”

He added, “They call me Grizzly Bear!” He was not loud or rude and he spoke with a smile. I continued to tell him that Jesus died for him so that he could have a freedom and joy in this life, and he is here for a purpose. At this he got quiet as tears began to roll down his beard and falling on his very weathered jacket. “I know, I just don’t know why He keeps me here”, was his response. I confessed that I didn’t have the answer to that, but I was positive there is a reason and that His plan is real. I also let him know that God considers him to be precious. The tears continued, but he sat up straight and stuck out his hand and said, “My name is Bill”. I shook that man’s hand with strength and mercy and said, “It is very nice to meet you Mr. Bill” and I meant it. We promptly ended our conversation with a warm smile and as I was leaving he asked, “Are you a @#!&%* angel?” With a giggle and a shake of my head I said, “No no, just someone that needed to tell you Jesus loves you.” He gave a huge smile that revealed teeth that were as weathered as his jacket and I walked away.

I don’t know if my feet touched the concrete until I reached my friends who were waiting with questioning looks. All I could say to them was, “Be careful what you pray for.” With that the tears began to roll down my own now very dusty face.

As the smell of his ‘beverage’ began to fade from my clothes, it began to sink in that I had the absolute privilege of sharing the love of holy God with someone who maybe had once known it but had forgotten that he was worth dying for. That simple interaction has changed the way I look at those who are downtrodden or in a desperate place. Jesus loves them just as much as He loves me. He died for them on the same cross with the same compassion and love that He died for me, regardless of the decisions they have made or that have been made for them. It’s not my place to judge them, but to share the greatest gift I have, the love and grace of Jesus Christ who is more than able to provide for all their needs.

I continue to pray for those opportunities even though I still have a tendency to be nervous about it. I know this is what God wants for me and all of those who call themselves His. What will I – you – do with the next opportunity?

“But in your hearts revere Christ as Lord. Always be prepared to give an answer to everyone who asks you to give the reason for the hope that you have. But do this with gentleness and respect…” 1 Peter 3:15

“And how can anyone preach unless they are sent? As it is written: “How beautiful are the feet of those who bring good news!” Romans 10:15