2 Timothy Quotes

The saying is trustworthy, for:

If we have died with him, we will also live with him;if we endure, we will also reign with him;if we deny him, he also will deny us;if we are faithless, he remains faithful—

for he cannot deny himself (2 Tim 2:11-13).

Despite its initial appearance of simplicity, the structure of these verses is incredibly impressive. Paul writes these contrasting clauses in great order. In the first line, he aligns death with Christ to life with him; our perseverance for him with his devotion to us; our rejection of him with his rejection of us. But the power comes in the last line, where Paul is no longer comparing ideas. There is a difference in the final clauses. If we fail to follow him, he will still pursue us. This may seem confusing since in the line prior, Paul says that if we deny Christ, he also will deny us. But there is a difference. Christ denying us is part of his justice. His character requires him to deny us at the final hour if we remain apart from him. BUT his character also requires him to love us forever. For that is what God is—1 John 4:8.

... [The Lord's servant must be] patiently enduring evil, correcting his opponents with gentleness (2 Tim 2:24-25).

 Not "[The Lord's servant must] patiently endure evil" but "[The Lord's servant must be] patiently enduring evil"—further indicates that we will face evil. 

A Foreign Perspective on Love

When asked, people, even Christians, would say "love" is a need. "I can't live without him." Love means a personality match. "We just click, you know, it's not just attraction, it's that as people, we connect really well." Love is physical attraction. "Okay, it's not all about how she looks but I don't think I could honestly be interested in someone who's not at least somewhat attractive." Love is happiness. Love is ... you get the idea. All of these things are good and honestly quite practical. But we can't forget the essence of love. And we most certainly should not get swept up in emotions and forget that love is not about us.
In all these examples, we see how "I need him," "I connect with him," "I like the way he looks," "I feel happy with him." Love becomes all about me. But that is a very inaccurate statement. Love, by example, ought to be rooted in selflessness.
Personally, I've at times heard this before but really thought about it in a new way. I shouldn't like someone just because he's the perfect guy: he's a strong Christian, he's an ESTJ (for the shamefully non-educated viewers, click here to learn more), he's smart but not too much smarter than me, he's mature, he doesn't melt from the pressure of meeting my family, he's nice to look at, he's 6' even, he's not a coffee-addict (okay, now I'm getting into the pathetic nitty-gritty details but you get the point). Although these are important for a successful marriage, they may not be the most important aspects of love. Instead, I should think, can I give up my life for this guy (John 15:13)? Can I sacrifice for him? Do I see his life as more important than my own?
Wow. That's not how my mind naturally tracked. Culture has pushed my own sinful brain even further down a track away from God's view. We should be thinking about others first. What will that person benefit from this relationship? Am I Mr/Miss Right for her/him? Or am I just on the hunt for the perfect woman/man for myself? It's a matter of changing our entire outlook on life. We ought put others' lives in front of our own. Sacrifice means selflessness. Selflessness means love.

http://www.boundless.org/2005/articles/a0001371.cfm

Tomorrow's Fate

With one day's passing comes the sorrow of the next.
An autumn chill frightens the mortal body.
A mind confused, lost in endless wanderings,
And footsteps that cannot free her trapped soul.


Unable to move, to find the next step,
She stumbles, crawling in constant circles
At last shivering alone in the fog,
Fear dripping from the looming black pines.


Her huddled figure while cloaked
Remains ever unshielded from the mist.
Death approaches for she was consumed
Not by a hopeful breath but by the flesh.


But why punished for what she never knew?
Who's duty was it to anoint this soulless being!
You have been given but one task and fail.
It is daunting but those who shy away are untrue. 


Don't be blind to the war that rages on.
For your mission is to fight unrelentlessly.
The time is fleeting; become an offering 
Amidst this life while awaiting the next. 


The cross of the past, the glory ahead,
The needs of today will push you on for while
Pain casts a shadow on this land it is
No match for the power that destroyed death.


Inspired by Romans 8.

Obedience

Who is the Spirit? Do we really know? A few months ago I would have said some Sunday School answer like, "The part of the trinity that helps us make the right decisions". Something vague and probably something that certainly didn't do him justice. But this spring our youth group started a series on the Spirit by Francis Chan which has made me feel his presence a lot more - which I've found both annoying but truly satisfying. It's almost like when you're a kid and you know you're parents are watching you, expecting you to say something kind, and you're just in agony because you want to the right thing but it's just... hard. Last week, I was with some friends when one said something kind of rude although it was still a joke. I didn't really feel irritated but somehow returned the comment with a offensive joke of my own. Right after I said it I realized what a stupid thing it was to say. It wasn't funny at all and it was sort of the joke that, although not meant to be serious, could still hurt. So I sat there with my friends for an hour or so miserably feeling like a jerk. When we were wrapping up, I felt like I should apologize. The difference between Christians and non-Christians is not in their sin but their response to their sin. I had acknowledged my sin but I had to confront it. I had to ask for forgiveness. A few months ago I wouldn't have recognized this as the Spirit. But by this point I knew it was his tugging on me. I'm not sure why the thought of apologizing seemed so awful but I really didn't want to do it. I suppose I just thought it would be really uncomfortable. Somehow the 'perfect moment' didn't just show up so I went on my way. For the next full hour I don't remember saying a single thing. I was engulfed in sin, drowning in my own evil. I wrote on a paper, Feels worse than people say when you screw up. Really feeling my sin right now. It was a wretched feeling. I just felt like crap. I saw my friend later in the day and the moment was perfect. She was all alone and in the easiest position to approach. I wasn't looking forward to the next few minutes but stood up and walked over anyway. That feat alone felt like moving a mountain. Eventually the words burbled up, "I'm sorry about what I said." She looked up, confused, and said, "What?" After explaining, she sincerely told me that it was no big deal. Driving home, a few minutes later I felt as though the day had gone from rock bottom to completely worry-free. I was happy. The Spirit asks us to do difficult things - but they're well worth it!

The Walk

The following is a memoir I wrote in 2011 about my faith for school.

I grew up in the church. Dad was the senior pastor; Mom, the faithful pastor’s wife; my brothers, the family members I suppose my childhood self would describe as “the ones who make me laugh.” It was a chilly Sunday morning as we sauntered into the front doors of the church. Dad held the door for us while mom led us into the lobby. For as many tall adults as there were, I never found myself intimidated. I knew each and every one of them. This is of course was one of the perks of being raised as a pastor’s kid or ‘PK’. Seventeen-year-old Elliot, thirteen-year-old Jeremy, and I scurried off to our separate Sunday Schools.

But church now, what exactly was that? Oh yes, the place where I sing songs with my fifth-grade Sunday school buddies and sit next to my mom, drawing a new variation of a horse or Pegasus every week as the pastor gives his sermon. The place where I’d browse the library with my brothers to escape adults who were friendly but to me it often felt like they just wanted to interrogate the pastor’s sweet little children. As irritating as these questions would seem, they also gave me special attention. I didn’t even have to try and I still had people talking to me just because of who my dad was. I liked church. 

Growing up, I followed my brothers’ every lead. If they wanted to go on a hike, I would too. If they wanted to play football, I would learn. But there were some things that my ten year old self simply could not track with. The faith of my brothers, particularly Elliot, was on a completely different level from mine. Elliot is seven years older than me. It was not as if he could fully grasp the glory of God, but what he could do was further understand the convoluted essence of grace given by the unseen. I yearned for this but just was not yet capable of it. 

In my teens I was baptized by Dad. Prior to the highly anticipated day, I felt it important to know when I asked Jesus into my heart, assuming that that is something people generally ought to be able to answer at their own baptism. Thus, in an effort to know more about my own spiritual growth, I proceeded to ask Mom. Remembering a particular moment when I prayed with her in one of our homes in Chicago, I asked her if this was the time.

“Mom, how was it that I came to know Jesus? Was there a moment?” I asked, entirely unaware. “Was it that time when we sat in the hallway at Jefferson and we prayed together?”

“When was that?” she responded. “I remember that you prayed to accept Jesus in first grade with Debbie Hara at Hinsdale in Pioneer Clubs. She told us afterward that you had had some kind of response.”

Apparently not. I had had some recollection of a moment of prayer with Mom but had no memory whatsoever of the prayer that is for many people ‘a life changing experience.’ The prayer of surrender and acceptance is extremely important and representative of their spiritual walks. For me, it had passed in one ear and out the other. I don’t even remember it. At the young and exceptionally vague age of “six or seven,” as Dad recalled, I couldn’t understand prayer much; no one could have. I had been told since I was a young child that Jesus died for me and that I must pray to believe in him in order to go to heaven. So I did. But I certainly did not think more than that into the depth of the experience. How could I? My age held me back from such lofty thoughts.
I don’t believe that I truly knew Jesus at the time of this prayer. Years passed as I dutifully followed my family to church. I liked church: it was fun. But did I internalize the pastor’s message? Did I understand the meaning behind the cross? No. I merely followed one of the many patterns of my family for years, this being that Sunday means church. But throughout my twelfth year all of this changed.

My heart found its way into an unfortunate but ultimately beneficial pitfall. How it happened or exactly when it happened, I cannot say. I can say, though, it revolved around one word: doubt. After all of these years of going to church every single week, I finally came to the age that I had to question the beliefs of my parents. Hearing the same message over and over had made me dull to it. I had grown older and didn’t just accept something as true like I had as I child. I questioned what didn’t make logical sense. And God certainly did not make logical sense. After all, I could not see Him! Perhaps this is the curse of growing up; or of the familiarity of something. Or both.

I sat on these feelings for quite some time. How was a pastor’s daughter supposed to tell her parents that she’s not sure of God? I couldn’t imagine what the conversation would consist of. My imagination ran wild.

“Mom, Dad, I’m not entirely sure that I believe in God.”

“WHAT?”

I couldn’t tell what their reaction would be. Would they freak out? Would they be angry? Would they try to act nonchalant? I had no idea. All I knew was that they would be devastated, heartbroken. So I kept my feelings hidden, something I am quite accomplished at. If I don’t feel comfortable with people knowing something, I just don’t tell them. As time progressed, I felt something bothering me. I knew I could leave this earth at any moment. If I died tomorrow, would God accept me into heaven? If not, I would go to hell tomorrow, or even today! How is a twelve year old supposed to handle that kind of pressure? Then I would continually remind myself, “Emily, calm down, you’re okay.” But in the end, I was willing to risk a bad reaction from my parents in order to know more about how I can be sure that God exists. I felt this strongly enough that while walking up the steps one day, I hesitated. Spinning around I heard the words coming out of my mouth, “How do you know that God exists?”

Mom jumped on the question with her answer apparently ready to burst out, “I think that through the stunning beauty of creation and the way in which a human heart responds to its beauty. The power of love that human beings can have for one another and that that there is more than a biological explanation for those feelings. I would say that a profound sense of grief that we experience at death. When a life ends, it feels wrong and abrupt.”

I agreed with all of this. But how could a person be sure? I just didn’t feel sure. “Yeah... that’s true” I said. “A lot of people doubt all of that. Like they believe it but they also doubt. Even some people in the Bible doubted.”

“There is no conclusive proof. That is what faith is all about.” Dad heard the conversation and chimed in, “You have to have faith no matter what. Even if you choose to believe in no god.” “And back to the question about why God exists,” Mom continued, “suffering in the world, no matter if it’s innocent suffering or suffering as a result of sin, I think everyone knows that it feels like something has gone wrong. That it shouldn’t be this way. A lot of people get mad at God because there’s the feeling that something used to be right and now its wrong and God is to blame. But this only proves that there is a God all the more.”

“How can you be satisfied with this though? I agree, but how do you feel settled?”

“I feel satisfied in that what I can see is consistent with and overwhelmingly supports the proposition that there is a God. The things I mentioned support God’s existence.”

“Haven’t you ever doubted that God exists?”

After a pause she responded, “No, I haven’t.”

I felt no more satisfied after this conversation than I had been before. Most of what she said was true. I already believed it. It makes sense that God exists. I knew this. I just felt hesitant. I felt unsure that I can find a God I do not see. Why couldn’t he just slam open a door or light up the sky some night when I asked him? Right, “you shall not put the Lord your God to the test” and “There is no conclusive proof. That is what faith is all about.” Okay, so that makes sense. I knew why God couldn’t explicitly make himself known, but still, why not help me out a little? Couldn’t He just make me feel his presence a bit more?

And making matters worse, Mom hadn’t ever even doubted. What was wrong with me? Why was I doubting something that everybody else seemed to happily accept without question? I wanted what they had. I wanted to believe in God with my entire being but I just... didn’t.

Looking back, I struggle to find any event that changed my walk to a real walk of faith. But I know it was after this period of doubt that I came to know Jesus as my Lord and Savior, not in a child’s faith, but in the lifelong faith of a yearning young adult. Somehow in my stage of confusion God had picked me up and given me a confidence in his existence. Has every moment since been filled with the same willing faith? Yes. But have I felt eager about God in every moment since? Certainly not.

I’ve found that there are two parallel paths lining up to make the walkway of faith: the intellectual path and the feeling-oriented path. If they are not lined up, a person cannot be filled with a sincere faith. My season of doubt was a crisis of my intellectual path. But what I was experiencing now was that relating to my feeling-oriented walk. God exists and I was completely confident in that. I knew that for the rest of my life and for all of eternity I would be confident in that. Yet I remained stuck; lost in what felt like an endless jail sentence. I wasn’t able to break out to feel his glorious splendor. My purpose in life was on hold because I was not letting the Holy Spirit fill his role in me; I was unconsciously shutting him out, and thus wasting my time on earth. Instead of following the call, I was vacantly staring at my shoes, wondering how I could make myself useful.

Nevertheless, he pounded through my confused outer shell and broke inside through a series of rather wonderful moments. These ‘moments’ are not any conclusive set of events in which my faith grew by some numerical value. They are merely times in my life at which I remember feeling touched by the Spirit. 
A few years back, our family took a vacation to a cabin in Michigan. We had a splendid time together apart from one instance in which Dad took me out sailing. He was fully confident in his sailing abilities, but they proved to be severely lacking when the boat capsized in the middle of the lake. 
When the wind caught the sail, I quickly realized that the boat was going over. With my only thought being that I needed to get away from the boat in order not to be caught underneath it, I slid off the boat, plunged into the water, and took off at top speed away from the boat. Sadly enough, I had no time to consider the fact that a sailboat has a sail, meaning that the boat would not rotate one hundred and eighty degrees when it tipped. The sail caught the water, spreading out across the rippling waves.

While I thought I was successfully fleeing from a terrifying experience of being caught underneath a boat and unable to reach air, I did the opposite. As I swam, I went right underneath the sail which was flat on the water. The poles that fixed it in position kept me from being able to get it out of my way.

Before any more time passed, I lost track of thought. I honestly thought myself to be drowning. I sat lifeless in the warm summer water and was somehow completely at peace. I remained entirely un-terrified, even while thinking my life was ending; and all the while, I only thought of one thing: Jesus. His name came to mind and I mulled it over and over before I felt myself being literally tugged.

After Dad had slipped into the water, he remained next to the boat; in between it and the sail. Quickly springing into action, he grabbed under the bar that held the sail down to pull me out. My life jacket kept me close up to the surface so he had to tug again and push me down and then up before I popped out.

Its odd to imagine myself sitting happily under a sail and satisfied with death. Only seconds before, I had swam with all the vigor in me to get away from such a fate. After realizing I was beneath the tarp, wouldn’t it have been sensible for me to swim quickly somewhere, anywhere to get out from under it? Wouldn’t panic have overtaken any child who was lost and felt doomed? But no, I had laid comfortably surrounded by the name of Jesus.

Feeling safe with Jesus even in a time of what naturally would have been horror brought me closer to him. The miraculous irony of the situation has forever brought me back to the sailing story, meditating on its depth.

It seems that often it is only in times of great need to we really call out for help. I find that throughout my walk, I have managed to call out to Christ more and more. Not only in times of need to I

call to him, but in times of complete satisfaction of worldly pleasures, I call. I need him always and not only when I feel desperate. My weak soul is constantly in a state of need.
Even after experiencing such comfort as I did in the sailing incident, I fell again into the pitfall of straying away from walking with my mind centered on Christ. I believed in God and continued ‘walking the walk’ by acting like a good Christian girl, but I didn’t live my life orbiting around the Lord. A family inspiration, Jim Elliot, refers to this as “a slacking desire.” He says,

How easy it is to lag spiritually at such times! Though there is challenge among the saints to stir them up and Sundays are crowded with jail and street meetings there is a very decided tendency to let the days slip through your fingers.... Oh there is time to read and seek God, but my desire slackens. Lord, uphold thy lily-saint. Stay me, Jehovah, for Thine is a strong right arm, and mine so weak!

My spiritual path was lagging during my middle school years, some of the most exhausting ones I have ever lived. Emotionally, I had felt maxed out. Although my family atmosphere was great and church was fine, school was not alright. Adults from church  would ask,

“How are you?”

“Good,” I’d reply without thinking. My poor twelve year old self never extended the bleak conversation with a “How are you?” in return. I merely endured the lifeless silence following my “good” and walked away. Perhaps blaming my attitude on school seems silly but it felt accurate. School was miserable, making me feel “unhappy” as Mom recounted. The circumstance left me no gap for learning. Teachers followed the stupid demands of the students, thus teaching nothing to those of us who wanted to make use of our time. But this unhappiness came over me because I allowed school to rule my life. Of course I desired complete satisfaction in Christ but had difficulty feeling it.

Lord, uphold thy lily-saint.

And he did.

After, a spiritually enriching experience of worship I made Him more dominant in my life.

Even in the midst of the chaos I felt at school, I found peace at church. As I forged ahead on my middle school years, I followed my youth group to a winter retreat. During one worship session, the band introduced me to Hillsong. All I knew of Hillsong at the time was that they wrote a song that had profoundly moved me: “From the Inside Out”. As the band played this song and worshipers surrounded me zealously praising their savior, I felt helpless as the words penetrated my heart:

Everlasting, your light will shine when all else fades

Never ending, your glory goes beyond all fame

And the cry of my heart is to bring you praise

From the inside out

Lord, my soul cries out

I distinctly remember closing my eyes and seeing the light. It literally exploded in the sky, reaching to any of the darkness that welcomed it. This darkness covered everything on the ground and below. But the light descended to the desolate wasteland, offering its pure, glistening rays to the scorched earth.

Describing what this and many other powerful songs have done to me is a challenge. I don’t start sweating blood or enter a state of semi-consciousness, but I might get shivers. I feel safe, like I’m untouchable with Christ. I feel like I’m where I belong as if no where else could ever be more satisfying. I am touched by the Spirit.

This one event did not change my heart forever though. I knew that I must rely on the strength of the Lord to persist though the chaos of this life. “A man’s thoughts dye his soul” Marcus Aurelius said. If I would pour myself into the Bible as consistently and often as possible, I would be able to live by it more. Even when my desire slackens, I must pick it up. It’s a brutal internal battle. The devil sweeps me away from the Word, pampering me with the comforts of the world, while the Spirit whispers that I might I call unto Him.

I never second-guessed the little voice I heard

It's just a whisper, that sounded like a scream

I ain't never felt so free

Remembering these lyrics from the Rinehart brothers of Needtobreathe, I run to Him, embracing his Word. The freedom that comes when I break the binding of that book and listen to the whisper is indescribable.

God works in mysterious ways, I remember thinking. He’ll use pain and suffering to bring us closer to him. He’ll use misery to help us to grow. He did this to me through my interactions with one of his creatures.

Horses are a huge passion of mine that became even more involved in my life in November of 2010, the year I met Snickers. Seeing her one day over the fence, I felt like I’d been hit with a brick. That horse is breathtaking, I thought. Immediately I decided I would do whatever it took to become her partner. Attempting to control my momentary overload of beauty, I casually walked over gave her a pat. Sheepishly peering about to see if anyone would notice, I snuck her a treat.

It was months later before I realized something critical about our relationship. As we spent more time together, I found she would have good days and she would have bad days. But only on one of those bad days did I realize that God was working in my life through her. As I brought my halter out to get Snickers on a stormy and foreboding spring afternoon, she didn’t walk toward me. In fact, she walked away from me. Suddenly I felt awful, overcome as though my heart had dropped into the caverns of my stomach. Snickers hadn’t just made me upset. She’d made me angry. How could she do this to me? Had I lost her or would she ever come back? Snickers, just turn around and say you’re sorry. I’ll forgive you.

She kept walking, further and further away. I sat in my bedroom that evening, coming back to devotions after my awful day. I obediently read a Psalm or two and then threw my Bible aside, ready to enter into a mode of prayer. Or something like that, as I began drilling God on why he’d let this happen. Snickers is what I’d always wanted. She is beautiful and wonderful and I want to ride her. I want to train her and own her. I want to be successful with her. And I want her to be mine. What else could you have in mind for us? Eventually, I paused, all out of questions or declarations as they may have been. Maybe I shouldn’t have treated my Lord with this much disrespect. I didn’t know why he would have caused this to happen but he did. I sighed and gave up: Lord, what could you be teaching me through this?

My answer came not through that night of prayer but through Snickers, the one who had started all of this mess. God used her as his instrument to speak to me. Soon after the unfortunate day, I returned to the barn, with a slightly bitter attitude as I walked to get Snickers. She came out right before I got there. She stood still with her ears dead set on me, her eyes plundering through the depths of my soul. I felt like I did when I first saw her, overcome with such splendor, before it suddenly struck me. God, is this how you feel when I give you the attention you deserve? I felt like I’d struck gold as I walked up to her. My relationship with Snickers was a parallel to God’s relationship with me! When I came to him, willingly and eagerly, he felt happy. He felt overjoyed, just like I felt all of the times Snickers had come to me. As I had ignored him over the winter months, he had felt upset and frustrated, like the day Snickers had walked away from me. Seeing her in this new light helped me in my walk.

As I held onto this tangible way of connecting to God’s love for me, I grew to love him more. Why had I ignored those longing eyes that my patient master turned to me with? As Jonah 1:6 points out, I was sleeping: “What do you mean, you sleeper? Arise, call out to your god!” God is so present but yet so distant and I had allowed myself to let go of God’s driving force in me. Although I wanted him back, I wasn’t using my eyes. I was blindly calling out in my sleep but not bothering to wake up. My walk has been filled with these valleys since; these ups and downs. As much as I’d love to be completely on fire for the Lord, I do not always feel so passionate. I don’t know if this is entirely my fault though it seems to be a trend of believers. Since we are not perfect neither will be our faith; it is tainted. But when I seek him out and call his name, I find him.

Whether it takes a slap in the face, or a gentle whisper, God wakes us up. I received more than one; and through all of these experiences, God was speaking. He is present and alive.

Previous to an assignment for school I had had much respect for martyr Jim Elliot; however since reading his biography, I discovered a new found inspiration. The assignment was to read the biography of any noteworthy person so after Dad brought home a pile of excellent biographies, I chose Shadow of the Almighty by Elisabeth Elliot, his wife. Sadly enough, the only reason it stuck out to me was because it was shorter and thus less material to read than the others. But my laziness turned out to be beneficial because this biography has been one of the most amazing journeys to follow along with.

Despite his occasional slackening desire, Elliot’s life is an incredible example. Every believer has the ups and downs to their faith; no one’s faith is consistently strong for their entire life. Initially reading the biography, I felt intimidated reading many of his thoughts because he was so in tune with Christ! He bluntly and verbally turned away from unhealthy social events because he was meant to be “in the world and not of it.” He spent abundant time reading the Bible, even to the point of allowing his school grades to drop a bit, in order to remain A.U.G. or ‘approved unto God’. He put God’s glory and his relationship with the Lord above everything else. He went through college consistently eager to get overseas and share the gospel.

Fortunately, though, a piece of commentary within the text by his wife reminded me that he was no particular hero. He was just a man like any other.

Jim's aim was to know God. His course, obedience - the only course that could lead to the fulfillment of his aim. His end was what some would call and extraordinary death, although in facing death he had quietly pointed out that many have died because of obedience to God. He and other men with whom he died were hailed as heroes, 'martyrs.' I do not approve. Neither would they have approved. Is the distinction between living for Christ and dying for Him, after all, so great? Is not the second the logical conclusion of the first?

I later read a chapter in which Jim said, “Missionaries are very human folks, just doing what they are asked. Simply a bunch of nobodies trying to exalt Somebody.” Both husband and wife worked together saying the same thing: no believer is more special than another and each is fully capable of greatness. This soothed me.
Combining Jim’s inspiring “greatness” with his humble attitude, I felt stronger. I felt more capable knowing that I didn’t need to be an incredible person to be useful for God. This strength was aroused even further after reading one of Jim’s letters to his sister: “You and I shall one day share with Him the promised triumph when He comes.... Exulting we shall follow and wonder then that we ever disbelieved.” Even someone who sacrificed his entire life for the Lord disbelieved and had moments of slacking desire. This sense of humanity behind such an exalted figure was encouraging.
The Lord used people and experiences to bring me closer to Him. The accident with the boat, the music from a retreat, the horse who changed my heart, and the character of Jim Elliot lead me on toward the light. As I continue on my journey, I know I will face more valleys and more hills; more cloudy days and more bright skies; more ups and more downs. But I pray for the strength to cling forever to the love of my King.

All of these moments in my life have empowered me to face the darkness festering about the earth; the darkness I imagined when hearing From the Inside Out. As it attacks a righteous faith, I pray for strength to continue on. From every direction, the enemy sweeps in to take me away from the living water offered by a savior. He attempts to break me down to the meager faith of a child. The battle rages onward as I struggle to feel my Lord’s presence; the presence of a sacrificial king who gave me life by giving up his own. And so I call out. I reach for help that comes as I stand, remaining wondrously lost in the clutches of the cross.