I saw a man sitting by himself on a grassy hill near our picnic spot. I grabbed my friends Lindsey and Nathan and together we walked over to introduce ourselves. “I’m Shane,” he said with a smile. And within moments we were deep in conversation. Shane told us his journey to living on the streets. He’d struggled with alcohol for …
The physical passion of Christ began in Gethsemane. Of the many aspects of His initial suffering, the one which is of particular physiological interest is the bloody sweat. Interestingly enough, the physician, St. Luke, is the only evangelist to mention this occurrence. He says, “And being in an agony, he prayed the longer. And his sweat became as drops of blood, trickling down upon the ground” (Luke 22:44 KJV).
“I sat on my bed reliving the moment I had spent 10 years trying to forget. Tears streamed down my face. I knew the only way to break free from the prison this memory held me in was to finally tell someone. I couldn’t hold it in any longer. There never was a “right” moment to tell a story like this, but I knew I could never get closer to God if I didn’t put a voice to it, if I didn’t get it outside of me. Would I even be able to get the words out? But somewhere deep inside, I knew it didn’t matter how much I could say, I simply had to try.” [Lo, DTS alum, California]
Like Lo, you too may have painful memories you wish you could forget. But the path to healing isn’t always easy. True healing only comes as we excavate the dark depths of the wound and release forgiveness. We hope you will find these 11 steps as helpful in your process as they were in Lo’s.
Miriam Adeney once said “You will never be completely at home again, because part of your heart will always be elsewhere. That is the price you pay for the richness of loving and knowing people in more than one place.” This statement rings truer than true for me in the season I am in. In fact, it is an ongoing …
Did you know that Muslims all over the world are having dreams and visions of Jesus? They are coming to faith in Jesus as a result of these direct supernatural encounters. Even Imams and former terrorists! And it’s happening in our own backyard!
Mexico was the most heart-wrenching outreach I have ever been on. Why? Was it because the town we went to didn’t have any running water? Was it because the cartel ran some of the villages, ruining so many kids’ lives? Was it because kids in villages were being married off by the age of 10? Was it because of the …
That’s the hardest part of being a missionary. You are there to change reality, to change eternity, but you will never be able to fully grasp other people’s reality. Because it isn’t your reality.
I tried to come to grips with that as I sat on the cold tile floor of a Cambodian home. Eight of us sat cross legged on the floor as we crammed inside a twelve by twelve home. Inside the home lived a grandmother and her granddaughter. The granddaughter was an orphan and the grandmother was fighting to make enough money to pay the bills.
With stacks of blue New Testaments in hand we followed three Thai men across the asphalt parking lot. They wore button down shirts and modern day apostles. They lived life with few hesitations. They prayed for almost everyone they met, shared Christ freely, and gave generously. But at that moment I didn’t know any of this about them yet. I just knew we were handing out Bibles.
Airports stir something deep within my heart.
There’s a longing present. A. Deep. Longing. As I’ve contemplated while sitting in lounge chairs, standing in lines, observing people going to and fro, it finally hit me as to why.
Airports draw in people from all nations, all peoples, all faiths, and all languages with the common purpose of going somewhere. And, we are all going somewhere. We’ve been invited to dine with our Papa God.
As I walked down the dusty streets my mind raced. I wove my way through vendors hawking paintings of elephants, colorful bracelets, silk scarves, and carved soap. A sungtow rumbled past us, seeking someone to chauffeur to unknown destinations. We turned down an alley filled with loud shouting and the deafening thump of dance music. The colors faded from the soft glow of streetlights to bright neon strobe lights and discos. And vendors were no longer selling bracelets and soap. They were selling women.