Less Is More

Less of Dave means more of Jesus.  When I admit to Jesus and myself that I am in a spot that I can't fight through, Jesus shows up. By laying down my pride, I have overcome my greatest weakness, my ego.
When Jesus shows up, there are attitudes, sins, misconceptions that I have to lay down.  These weaknesses of mine simply cannot exist in His presence.

Now, during these times of humility and honesty, I don't really feel His presence.  But, I know my Savior has come through for me.  Because only with Jesus less is more.

And He said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for My strength is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore most gladly I will rather boast in my infirmities, that the power of Christ may rest upon me.
2  Corinthians 12.9

Let's learn to walk before we try playing basketball...

I hadn't been going to the church I currently attend very long when I decided to go along on a Monday night visitation. For us, that's where a group of people meet at the church, pray, and then disperse in teams to visit a list of 'needing' people. I use the quotation marks around 'needing' because the definition in this case contains a number of situations depending on the person.

My very first visitation paired me with our pastor and took us to the home of a man I had known most of my life. Pastor Derek prepared me on the short drive by stating this gentleman had never accepted Christ, and his family was concerned because he was getting older. He had also been visiting the church and showed a desire to learn more about Jesus.

Seemed easy enough to me. Go in and visit with someone I knew (I had attended school with his daughters), talk about Jesus, and hope someone walked that Romans road. I was most nervous about the fact I had attended school with his daughters and hoped Pastor Derek talked about the forgiving and redeeming factors of our faith...but that's a different post.

We were warmly welcomed into the man's home, and the discussion was very comforting and ran a gambit of subject matters but nothing requiring too much deep thought. After half an hour or so, Pastor Derek got to the heart of the matter as to why we were in this man's living room on a Monday night. What happened next actually happened so fast, I had to go back and replay it in my head over and over that night to piece the events back together.

I remember Pastor Derek asking this man if he had ever accepted Christ as his savior. At that very moment, the room filled with the unmistakable Spirit of God to the point I literally became overwhelmed. I knew to a degree what was happening in my head, but the experience overall was as if my very soul was being supercharged...and that was a completely new experience for me. I wasn't there for my benefit, it was suppose to be about this man and his eternal salvation. Yet the presence of the Holy Spirit blessed me in a most tremendous way.

Before I knew it, I was shaking this man's hand and hugging his neck. On his knees that very night...he met God...and so did I. Yes, I was already His child, but He helped me fully realize that I would be but a spectator as I spread His word in hopes that others would come to know Him. The glory is all His in every step of the way back Home.

Pastor Derek has on occasion ribbed me a little about that night. He knew what had happened in that living room, felt it many times before I'm sure. We walked out to get back in his truck, and as I looked up the long street of houses, I said something he will never let me forget, 'Look at all those houses, we've got time...let's visit a some more!'

Of course, wandering around on a Monday night knocking on doors uninvited is probably not the best idea, even if you are charged up on the Holy Spirit. I would learn to control my spiritual throttle in time with God's help, allowing me to be more useful in similar situation in the future. While God graciously brought my brother into the fold that night, He was also teaching me what my work for Him is all about. Quite simply...it's all about Him.

Hallelujah.

Eating Ladoos to the Beat of a Tabla: Lifting Up Jesus

Sharing my faith in the typical ways is not easy for me anymore. Once upon a long time ago I was involved in a “Summer of Witnessing” as a teen in NYC. Teens from mostly the Midwest came to Brooklyn to use the Roman Road and tell people about Jesus. I liked the silent prayer partner role the best. However, I would also take my turn, going through down the Roman Road and hope for a prayer. We reported every day of our numbers and have services every night. I don’t remember every seeing any one we witnessed to during the day show up at that meetings.

I remember street meetings in Brooklyn that I have already mentioned in this blog. In one of them, with a group from Nyack College, I remember leading someone to the Lord. I never knew what happened to him. I got involved with a group that had a plan for winning Brooklyn for Jesus. We took blocks and targeted them with prayer and door knocking, all very strategic.  All of this was before I finished the tenth grade. To say I was a bit zealous is an understatement.

However, over the years my personal experience is that I have rarely seen this method of evangelism have long-term results. I have found that simple living the life is probably the most effect. Just hanging out as David said in his blog yesterday.

The most unusual time I shared my faith was in Pakistan. No, I wasn’t on a mission trip to Pakistan, I was on a family trip. It was 22 years ago last week. My husband’s brother was getting married. My husband, four of our children and I flew from NYC to Kuwait and on to Pakistan.

When we landed in Kuwait, I knew everything was different. At that time, you never saw police armed with machine guns in the US. In Kuwait, they walked around the airport, scanning all of us. I had a headscarf ready and hid under it. It was not because of modesty or religious conviction. I wanted to hide my light skin and light hair. I also insisted on wearing my cross. I wanted it clear, no matter what, I am a Christian and not ashamed.

I used the public toilet only to find it didn’t have a toilet. There was a hole in the floor to squat over. I was not that coordinated. We boarded the next plane to Karachi, Pakistan.

We arrived in the wee hours of the morning. As we went through customs, my fear increased. There was an old high desk in the middle of the room. The man sitting on the stool was quite intimidating. When he approved someone to go further, the sound of his stamp on the paper reverberated throughout the room. 

As the days went on, I slept a lot trying to adjust to the time change. I had never met my husband’s family other than one of his brother. There were so many people, most spoke no English. I had no idea of Pakistani wedding customs.  The woman would gather for hours and hours with a tabla, a drum and sing traditional wedding songs. The most popular one was about a mother singing to her son about how he was as beautiful as a peacock.

There were days and days of singing.  Three preliminary ceremonies leading up to the actually wedding.  I put mehndi (henna) on the bride-to-be’s hands and fed her ladoos to help with her fertility. It evidently worked she has five children.

One day I was sitting with the woman, all related, only one spoke any English. They were singing and beating the tabla. I was attempting to clap my hands with them. However, I am Norwegian. Norwegian usually have a serious lack of rhythm. Usually I have to watch careful in order to clap hands to music. This beat was different; it was odd. I was lost.

The sister-in-law who knew English looked at me and said, “You sing?” Sing? Me? I don’t know any Pakistani songs.  They all got excited as she translated that she was asking me to sing a song. They said you sing English – you sing one of your songs.

I probably know 100’s of songs. Nevertheless, at that moment, I couldn’t think of one I knew. I looked at our daughters. I asked them if they wanted to sing. They were young and of course, they thought this was a great idea!  So I asked them, “what do you want to sing?”

They looked at me with a big smile and said, “How about Jesus Loves Me?”  We were in a Muslim country and the only Christians in the house. I thought, dare I? I sent the children into the room with the men to ask their dad what he thought.  They came back and said, “Dad said sure, why not? They won’t understand it anyway.”

We started to sing:

Jesus loves me this I know,

For the Bible tells me so

Little ones to Him belong,

They are weak but He is strong

                Yes, Jesus loves me, Yes, Jesus loves me

                Yes, Jesus loves me, The Bible tells me so

They played the tabla and clapped to their beat. It wasn’t the beat of the song, it just have sounded terrible. We sang. They smiled. We smiled. 

Ok, now maybe this isn’t what you had in mind for sharing my faith. I’d love to tell you that all these woman received Christ. They didn’t. However, I believe the scripture:

But I, when I am lifted up from the earth, will draw all men to myself." John 12:32