It's impossible to describe to a nonbeliever what it's like to be on fire for God. In my experience, it's something you've got to show them in the way you live and love. It's like with any relationship, you go through your ups and downs. One day you might be in the pits, but pretty soon your best friend or spouse or sister will come down to your level and bring you back up. Before long, you find yourself so passionate about this relationship, everything you do revolves around them. That's what your relationship with Jesus Christ should be like.
Maybe you've got Jesus already, and you've ridden a few waves since you became a Christian, but the next crest seems too far away. You're reading your Bible, and having your quiet time with the Lord, but somehow you're just not feeling it. Heck, you probably haven't even missed church in two months yet you're missing something.
It's not that you're in the wrong faith--you know there's no getting around Jesus being the way, the truth, and the life. For me, it often feels like I'm not doing enough to keep my passion for God alive when I've got it in full force. I hate how it feels to lose touch with God, even for only a split second.
Let's say you have accidentally drifted some. It doesn't matter how far, or for how long, just that you aren't feeling the fire you felt before. Every Christian feels this way at some point or another, and all they want is to feel the Holy Spirit guiding them once more.
Acts 4:31 offers a suggestion.
Get to know a small group of fellow believers with whom you can depend on, study the Bible together, and most importantly, pray with.
The verse says once they were finished praying, they were all filled with the Holy Spirit and spoke the word of God boldly and without hindrance.
It sounds impressive considering moments earlier, the entire group had been discouraged and frustrated with the treatment of their buddies. They went from being in a spiritual slump to the top of their game, all because they prayed together. Huh.
Monday, September 13, 2010
Saturday, September 11, 2010
The First Nine Years of the Post 9-11 Era
Nine years ago, I was barely cognizant of the world I lived in; I was homeschooled and my aunt and cousins lived with me and my family. My young cousin Nick's birthday had been the day before. I'd known we were planning a big surprise party for him, and as usually happened when someone's birthday came in the middle of the week, we didn't celebrate the day of because everyone's schedules were different.
I'd already done my morning ritual, and had completed one of my assignments for the day already. I was waiting for it to be 9:00 when "The Magic School Bus" came on. It was one of the few shows my mom would let me stop doing school work to watch.
I couldn't watch it that morning, and that's when I first began to think something was wrong.
My mother was in the den watching the news. I could hear her speechlessness from the dining room table, but I didn't know what was up.
Moments before my show was going to start, my mother rattled off stern orders to my older brother, who sat in the TV room every morning to write about the news. The one command I remember most was for him to get a radio and keep track of all that was happening so he could let my mom know what the situation was while she was out.
Like nearly every parent, my mom hurried off to snatch the kids of the house from school (my cousins were not homeschooled).
My brother didn't have a radio he could carry around with him, but my mom remembered my grandma had given me a yellow radio-flashlight on her last trip. It'd come from the dollar store, and didn't work that great. That morning, it actually wasn't even assembled. The previous day--week--whenever, I had taken it apart to see what was inside it.
My mom wouldn't leave until I'd gotten that radio for my brother. That included me putting it back together in working order.
It was the only pocket-sized radio we had in the house, without digging out the old hurricane emergency radio.
As she hurried out the door, my mom mentioned to me that she was going to go pick up Billieanne, Paulina, and Nick. I didn't understand, and again, I thought it was a surprise birthday celebration for Nick. What was cooler than getting out of school early for the day to party?
For those who don't know, I live next to a giant naval air base. Jet noise is common place here.
We'd never heard jet noise like we did that morning.
I was walking into the den sometime that morning--still totally unaware of the chaos the world was in--when two jets sonic-boomed overhead.
A jet's afterburners are loud. The loudest they get around here is a whooshing roar that drowns out all noise for about ten seconds, and that intensity is actually pretty rare. The jets are normally only that loud during airshows and at random during the summer.
I may be wrong, but I don't think they're actually going super-sonic even when they're that loud. Also, they aren't allowed to fly that loud beneath a certain altitude because they're flying over a populated area. From what I understand, flying too low could rupture a person's ear drum, causing severe pain and bleeding.
Nine years ago, a pair of jets took off from the naval base at such an angle and velocity that hearing anything other than a dull ringing was impossible for a half hour.
I don't know how fast they were travelling, nor how low they were, nor do I even know what direction they were going in, but I know the only other time I've heard them that loud was at snack time later that day.
Now that I'm older, I wonder where they scrambled to and what, if any influence they had over the day's events.
That night, after a day spent entertaining my cousins by playing Mario 64 and pretending to be Mario giving them a tour of Peach's castle, my parents brought me into their bedroom.
They had been crying, and one of their bibles was open on the comforters.
They told me about everything that happened, how many people died.
Afterwards, we prayed together for the first time as a family that I can remember, other than the "say grace" ritual before dinner.
During this past week, the world has almost felt like it's just as bad a place to live in now as it was that morning when so many lives were lost.
There's that nutcase claiming to be a Christian leader advocating a burning of the Kuran to spite Muslims out of remembrance for what happened nine years ago.
Just in case you didn't know, no one was burning the Kuran in the World Trade Center.
Don't hate Muslims because a few "super devout" radical psycopathes did some heinous acts in the name of allah or whatever.
They are no less exempt from God's love than anyone else, and for that we need to love them.
A topic I've seen bouncing around the headlines is that the vast majority of Americans/experts/whoever don't think Osama Bin Laden will ever be caught, captured, or killed. Some even go as far as to accuse the people going out and looking for him or the government for which they stand in the matter, claiming we can't kill a Saudi Prince.
If we as a nation are capable of risking war by invading a hostile country to assassinate a South-American drug lord like Pablo Eskabar, why would we hold back against the person responsible for brainwashing countless terrorists to kill countless more lives?
No, justice has to be done. Regardless of whether a US Marine zip-ties Bin Laden's hands behind his back, a 200lb bomb knocks his door down, or he trips over a stone in Pakistan and croaks, God will serve vengeance.
As hard as it is to believe, even Bin Laden could be forgiven of his sins. We must not forget that.
The times are dark, but there is a God shining in the darkness and the darkness has not overcome.
I'd already done my morning ritual, and had completed one of my assignments for the day already. I was waiting for it to be 9:00 when "The Magic School Bus" came on. It was one of the few shows my mom would let me stop doing school work to watch.
I couldn't watch it that morning, and that's when I first began to think something was wrong.
My mother was in the den watching the news. I could hear her speechlessness from the dining room table, but I didn't know what was up.
Moments before my show was going to start, my mother rattled off stern orders to my older brother, who sat in the TV room every morning to write about the news. The one command I remember most was for him to get a radio and keep track of all that was happening so he could let my mom know what the situation was while she was out.
Like nearly every parent, my mom hurried off to snatch the kids of the house from school (my cousins were not homeschooled).
My brother didn't have a radio he could carry around with him, but my mom remembered my grandma had given me a yellow radio-flashlight on her last trip. It'd come from the dollar store, and didn't work that great. That morning, it actually wasn't even assembled. The previous day--week--whenever, I had taken it apart to see what was inside it.
My mom wouldn't leave until I'd gotten that radio for my brother. That included me putting it back together in working order.
It was the only pocket-sized radio we had in the house, without digging out the old hurricane emergency radio.
As she hurried out the door, my mom mentioned to me that she was going to go pick up Billieanne, Paulina, and Nick. I didn't understand, and again, I thought it was a surprise birthday celebration for Nick. What was cooler than getting out of school early for the day to party?
For those who don't know, I live next to a giant naval air base. Jet noise is common place here.
We'd never heard jet noise like we did that morning.
I was walking into the den sometime that morning--still totally unaware of the chaos the world was in--when two jets sonic-boomed overhead.
A jet's afterburners are loud. The loudest they get around here is a whooshing roar that drowns out all noise for about ten seconds, and that intensity is actually pretty rare. The jets are normally only that loud during airshows and at random during the summer.
I may be wrong, but I don't think they're actually going super-sonic even when they're that loud. Also, they aren't allowed to fly that loud beneath a certain altitude because they're flying over a populated area. From what I understand, flying too low could rupture a person's ear drum, causing severe pain and bleeding.
Nine years ago, a pair of jets took off from the naval base at such an angle and velocity that hearing anything other than a dull ringing was impossible for a half hour.
I don't know how fast they were travelling, nor how low they were, nor do I even know what direction they were going in, but I know the only other time I've heard them that loud was at snack time later that day.
Now that I'm older, I wonder where they scrambled to and what, if any influence they had over the day's events.
That night, after a day spent entertaining my cousins by playing Mario 64 and pretending to be Mario giving them a tour of Peach's castle, my parents brought me into their bedroom.
They had been crying, and one of their bibles was open on the comforters.
They told me about everything that happened, how many people died.
Afterwards, we prayed together for the first time as a family that I can remember, other than the "say grace" ritual before dinner.
During this past week, the world has almost felt like it's just as bad a place to live in now as it was that morning when so many lives were lost.
There's that nutcase claiming to be a Christian leader advocating a burning of the Kuran to spite Muslims out of remembrance for what happened nine years ago.
Just in case you didn't know, no one was burning the Kuran in the World Trade Center.
Don't hate Muslims because a few "super devout" radical psycopathes did some heinous acts in the name of allah or whatever.
They are no less exempt from God's love than anyone else, and for that we need to love them.
A topic I've seen bouncing around the headlines is that the vast majority of Americans/experts/whoever don't think Osama Bin Laden will ever be caught, captured, or killed. Some even go as far as to accuse the people going out and looking for him or the government for which they stand in the matter, claiming we can't kill a Saudi Prince.
If we as a nation are capable of risking war by invading a hostile country to assassinate a South-American drug lord like Pablo Eskabar, why would we hold back against the person responsible for brainwashing countless terrorists to kill countless more lives?
No, justice has to be done. Regardless of whether a US Marine zip-ties Bin Laden's hands behind his back, a 200lb bomb knocks his door down, or he trips over a stone in Pakistan and croaks, God will serve vengeance.
As hard as it is to believe, even Bin Laden could be forgiven of his sins. We must not forget that.
The times are dark, but there is a God shining in the darkness and the darkness has not overcome.
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