His Cherry Blossom

 "There is a satanic lullaby over the church in America. I want to go back to Iran," said a Christian Iranian lady to her pastor husband after living in the States for several years. How is that she would choose to go back to a life of persecution and oppression when she had the opportunity to live in this "land of freedom"? I think the satanic lullaby voiced by our Iranian sister is the mindset that what we do and who we are doesn't matter - we can become rich and famous, we can squander our life, we can be poor and miserable in the ghetto, we can be imprisoned for some misdemeanor and none of it matters because no one cares - but there is Someone who cares. What does it look like to release a song that breaks the satanic lullaby over this nation - specifically over the church? What does it sound like to live a life of influence and hope rather than reactionary to what is happening?  I've been having a lot of conversations lately with people my age who are ...

  "Hope does not disappoint us" - these words come from a song some close friends of mine wrote a couple years ago. It's been one of my favorite songs and I often find the chorus running through my head. Recently, as I once again heard the lyrics in my mind, I found myself thinking bitterly that it couldn't be true. After all - is not the very nature of disappointment the experience of things not working out as you had hoped? Isn't disappointment a hope gone wrong? So how is it possible for hope not to disappoint? The chorus goes on to say in reference to the Lord - "You are faithful! You are good!" Ahh... now we're getting somewhere. Hope on its own will disappoint. But hope in the One who is faithful and good does NOT disappoint. What does this mean? Our hope is built on the character of God, who never changes, not the outward circumstances surrounding me.  For example - this summer, I directed an eight-week clean up/beautification project in the m...

  I've noticed this strange phenomenon - that when I give a command, people obey. I'm just doing my thing and they come to me asking what to do next or for advice on what they're doing. Why do they come to me? Why do they ask me for answers? Who do they think I am? Sometimes I want to run away from the responsibility of knowing what's going on. I want to bury my head in the sand - pretend I don't know anything, pretend I don't notice the changes needed in my home and my neighborhood, pretend I don't have access to all the riches of heaven. Sometimes I just want to point the finger at someone else and say it's all their fault - it's not my problem! Yet, something deep inside of me stands at attention before the command of the Lord. He said before ascending to the heavenly realms - "All authority in heaven and earth has been given to Me. THEREFORE, go and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of...

 I thought I knew what honor meant. I thought I understood the cultural inference, the delicate dance between one ethnicity and another. I thought I had left shame far behind when that little girl was dunked in the pool declaring my allegiance to the King of kings and no other. I thought all these things until about a week ago.  I had been working hard all day, fighting a nagging head cold and extreme exhaustion. My mind was fatigued from hours of brainwork on the computer. Then, the afternoon rolled around and I was using every ounce of willpower to move mattresses, an obstinate grill, and tools and wood up and down flights of stairs. The day felt like it would never end. Meanwhile, I was aware that a team of individuals had come out and were working with Tina in the garden, but honestly I had no desire to meet them and I felt filthy and gross. My final errand required me to walk out past them as they congregated to head out. Forcing myself to be hospitable, I stepped ou...

 A deep maroon carpet with golden designs covers the floor of the mostly empty room. Large, embroidered pillows line the wall set on a matching foam cushion on the ground. Curtains drape across the large, barred windows peaking out from the cement fortress. Lingering scents of cologne and spices float through the air as the AC endlessly drones on. A girl of about 13 yrs old sits curled up on the cushions - her hair pulled back behind a bandanna and her legs neatly folded under a brightly colored skirt. She's deep into a book - unaware of the world around her.  If you took a step outside of the house and the four walls of the courtyard, you would see that she is not like the others around. She doesn't really fit in and yet this has always been home. Her temporary home is in a land that does not recognize her King and so she strives to live a life that demonstrates a kingdom different from that around her.  If you look closely with me at my younger self, you'll see the titl...

I remember back when I was little, we lived on a compound in Saudi Arabia. As a child of 5 or 6 one of my joys was collecting little “treasures” on the compound grounds. All we had was a playground with a couple trees and a sandy floor. The rest of the courtyard consisted of a tiled open area in the center of apartment buildings. I remember coming in from outside with my pockets full of my little treasures - dried orange peels, broken glass, beads, colorful pieces of plastic. Before we left the country at the age of 7, I had the maturity to realize the assorted treasures weren’t worth keeping and sadly disposed of my quaint collection.  In another country south of Saudi Arabia, our first house was surrounded by sand - like a big sandbox with a few rocks in it. This time we stayed in our own villa but like the compound it was surrounded by a courtyard with a tall cement wall. Outside of that wall, the wind would howl, whipping up the sand - and trash, and more sand - and more trash,...