Notes from the fall term - Kris Vallotton

From Kris Vallotton: 

• Sticks and stones will break your bones but names will steal your future.

• Many of us have been living under the wrong name. We live under a name that God hasn’t given us. When you were little, you knew you were born to rock. It takes 12 years of religion to convince you that being a loser is somehow good. When you understand who you are and whose you are, the battle is over.

• We're not "sinners saved by grace." When you were saved by grace you became a saint. When you receive Jesus, you receive a new name. You take on His name. You become a saint. [Romans 8] You can’t be a sinner and a saint at the same time. You're a brand new creation.

• You naturally want to reproduce who you think you are. If your house is a dump, I might put my feet on your coffee table when I come over. But I like my house and I take my shoes off when I'm home. And so will you because when you come over you don't see me putting my feet up on my coffee table. 

• I tell you how to treat me by the way I treat me. Whenever someone puts you somewhere that is better than you think of yourself, you’ll reduce the environment to what you believe about yourself. Example: Putting homeless in public housing which then becomes the worst ghettos. Or putting a prince (Joseph) in prison.

• It’s not in your nature to sin. You don’t have to sin. [1 John 1] We all came to Christ as sinners. But He didn’t just forgive you, He changed you. We start out as sinners. You can’t forget that. You didn’t make yourself a saint, He did. And if you sin (not when you sin, because sin isn't normal for a Christian, although there are lots of things that are common but not normal) you're already forgiven. [1 John 3]

• You are not your temptation. You are not identified by your worst day. Condemnation says, “you lied, you’re a liar.” Condemnation tries to convince you that your action is your identity. 

• You will always reproduce who you think you are. Be imitators of God. Spend your whole life trying to become more like God.

More class notes - Mary and the Christ child

Bernie Ooley, one of the BSSM bible teachers

I took this longer set of notes from a class taught by our bible prof, Bernie Ooley. She's one of our favorites.

We've now read almost all of the New Testament. Each week one of our bible teachers expounds on a particular book or passage. I found this teaching in my notes from October. 


Like Mary in Luke, we have to learn to ponder things in our heart so that when tough times come we still have the promise of God and we're not trying to force things ahead of God’s plan. Mary was a woman of expectancy. She had no grid for what she heard - it was a new thing. If your vision doesn’t scare you, it’s not big enough.

God loves to use the least likely because then He gets the glory. God will use our education, background, experience but that’s not what qualifies us. [2 Chronicles 16:9]

No word of God is void of power. A word of God has the power to come to pass if it’s just received. If we approach the word of God with our own set of traditions we’re just as bad as Pharisees - we make His word null and void with no effect.

When we get a prophetic word (a promise from God) external circumstances don’t always change overnight. In fact, they begin to look 180 degrees opposite. You’re believing for doors open for your destiny and everything slams shut. The sower sows the word and immediately the weeds come up. So if you’ve received a promise and the opposite happens, you’re right on track.

First thing Mary did is carry the secret in promise. And when she went to someone, she went to someone who would understand - Elizabeth. Don’t tell everyone everything. Entrust the sacred gift by only going to people who have earned the right to speak into our lives. The favor of God opens doors and starts wars, because people don’t understand and get jealous.  

        - Bernie Ooley

Notes from the fall term - #1

This fall, Anne and I have heard teaching from Bill Johnson, Beni Johnson, Kris Vallotton, Bernie Ooley, Dann Farrelly, Chris Overstreet, and others. Some of the speakers whisper, others bounce across the stage. All of them are passionate followers of Jesus who want to see revival around the world.

We usually get three or four hours of teaching each day. At points over the past four months I've felt like I was on the receiving end of a dump-truck's worth of revelation. It's going to take at least a week or two of downtime over Christmas to wrap my mind around everything that's happened. As a start, we're going to sift through our notes from the fall term and share some gems.

Here's the first batch:

You aren’t what you think you are. (No one has a perfect perspective of who they are). You aren’t what others think you are. You become what you think others think you are. As John Maxwell says, “You become what you think the most important person in your life thinks you are.” It’s really important what you think God thinks of you. [And God loves you - see John 3:16 and all of 1 John].    - Kris Vallotton

Our culture values concept over experience. You can go to business college and get taught by people who have never run a business. But what a person teaches he must be able to produce. If you can’t, then let people know you’re still in process. We have so much teaching in the church that has no experience to back it up. Jesus’ words became Spirit and things happened. Find all the places where doing and teaching are in the same phrase, like in Acts 1. Teaching concepts is important but it's supposed to lead to experience. Many people fall short of divine encounter because they are satisfied with good theology. Any revelation that doesn’t bring me into a divine encounter only makes me more religious.   - Bill Johnson

Salvation means not only forgiveness of sin but deliverance from torment and healing from disease. When someone is healed, it’s an expression of the Kingdom. Jesus illustrated what a man could do completely free of sin and empowered by the Holy Spirit. I’m forgiven of sin, so all that’s left is empowerment.    - BJ

Faith doesn’t come from striving, it comes from surrendering. Authority comes from the commission, power comes from the encounter.    - BJ

Faith isn’t blind, it sees the situation from a better pair of eyes. The bible is to be not only revelatory but relevant.   - Bernie Ooley


How we see God partly determines what we get from Him. If we think He's harsh, we’ll live in fear. When we don’t see Father God as always good, we misinterpret life. Matthew 7 - “Did I not cast out demons...” How can someone have power and authority and God says I didn’t even know you? They live life out of a religious mindset - they didn’t have intimacy. Everything they were doing was motivated out of trying to get something - to be famous or seen.

John 15:15. We need a servant heart with a friend’s mentality. So many have a servant heart with a slave mentality. Action doesn’t mean godlines. You can’t change your heart, but if you change what you believe it will change your heart.     - Mark Brookes

Joy

I’ve never had someone hold my hand like that. She wasn’t going to let go. And all I could do was mourn with this poor, desperate, broken woman.

It was my son Cam who pulled me over to room 14 at the rundown motel in downtown Redding. The woman’s partner made a plea for help in the parking lot while standing in line for a warm meal on the drizzly Saturday morning. Cam was moved by his sadness. I was busy elsewhere and missed the conversation but my strong, gentle, compassionate son wouldn’t let it drop.

“We’ve got to find this lady in room 14,” he said.

“I wish we knew where she is,” I said, hoping he would drop it.

You see, I’m getting comfortable talking to, loving and even hugging the homeless and other folks who gather in the motel’s parking lot each Saturday morning. The folding tables and chairs we set up for the community feast are one of six sites run by Bethel church in Redding. 

Finishing up at our community feast in downtown Redding on Saturday

But crossing into someone’s room felt like an invasion of privacy -- an act of familiarity and trust in a world where nothing is familiar and I don’t know who is trustworthy.

“It’s right there Dad. That room over there.”

Oh. The one with the number 14 on it. Perfect.

I knocked tentatively. The door opened a crack and then swung wide. A shroud of cigarette smoke billowed out. The room was dark except for the glare from the television. Plastic bins and cardboard boxes filled the room. The floor was covered in wood shavings and cigarette wrappers.

The man Cam met in the lineup invited us in. A woman sat on the bed. A third man, covered in tattoos, lay on a makeshift cot laid across plastic bins. He didn’t get up.

Another woman from our team joined us and sat down on the beside the woman. I knelt down beside her. The sick woman grabbed my hand and pulled it up to the crook of her neck. She squeezed.

Her hair was matted. Her color pale. Hopelessness felt thicker than the smoke.

So we prayed. Her body was broken. Her spirit was buried under immeasurable pain. Only heaven knows what tragedies she has faced.

I felt God telling me she used to swim as a little kid. She loved the freedom in the water. Floating. Limbs moving freely in any direction. Weightless.

“You loved swimming, as a kid.” She started to sob.

“God loves you. He wants you to feel that freedom again.”

And that’s all I could do. Pray and soothe, my friend gently stroking her hair, speaking words of life over her. Her heartache was so heavy.

This past week at school we’ve been learning about joy -- that Jesus didn’t just muscle through the hard times, keeping calm, carrying on. As it says in Hebrews 12, even while hanging on the cross Jesus chose to see heaven and choose joy. Joy gives us heaven’s perspective. Jesus told us in John 15 that He wants us to be completely filled with joy... Always.

All I could do that morning was hold that desperate woman’s hand and plead before God on her behalf. All the evil inflicted on her, all the bad breaks, all the emptiness swirled around me. I couldn’t see hope.

Where does joy come in? How do I bring heaven into that room?

Don't get me wrong. I’m not going to choose to be blind or stupid. Only a fool wouldn’t see the pain and suffering and misery in the world. And there's room in faith for sadness. Jesus wept when his friend died. I hope I always hold hands, pray, and recognize people’s pain. I’m still going to offer a hot meal, a helping hand and I’m going to bring light into darkness.

But just because there’s hopelessness all around doesn’t mean that’s what we have to dwell on. People around us know sadness. They don’t need help finding their pain. They don’t need me to join them in their pit of misery. What people need is joy even in suffering. People want heaven.

I’m going to choose joy.

             - Andrew

Eating fruit from the right tree

I made a deal with myself recently. Actually it's more like a rule. It's this: I'm not allowed to judge myself. 

Usually, judging myself is in the form of this phrase: "What's wrong with me?"

Often, my thinking goes something like this: "I'm one of the most blessed people I know. I have a wonderful family. I have incredible friends. I'm healthy. I'm living out a dream. I get to be in one of the most special places on the planet. Why don't I feel awesome all the time? Why do I do or say stupid things? Why do I think self-defeating thoughts? Why do I make dumb choices about how I spend my time? Why aren't I the person I want to be yet? What's wrong with me?"

What I'm seeing more and more, though, is that "what's wrong with me?" question, the judgements I make toward myself, are part of a destructive mindset. It's a mindset that says God expects a certain kind of song and dance from me in exchange for blessing. It's a mindset that assumes God only loves me when I feel good about myself. It's an insidious attitude that wants to live well, do well, relate well and look good in order to feel I deserve God's love.

But God isn't like that. He's a God who made babies. And babies cry. Babies can't do anything for themselves. Babies are adorable even though they're messy and chubby and needy. We don't judge babies for making mistakes when they're learning to walk or talk or eat.

He's a God who made plants come from seeds. From sowing to harvest, there's a long process involving sun and rain and care and nurture and pruning.

He loves process. He created process. He loves my process, even when I don't feel awesome. He's in charge of my process of being and becoming. He's transforming my mind and healing my brokenness from many years of trying so hard to live up to my own standards and what I perceive others' standards to be.

In the Garden of Eden, there were two trees. One was the tree of the knowledge of good and evil. The other was the tree of life. Adam and Eve ate from the wrong tree. Since then, along with our sin and rebellion, we've been obsessed with judging ourselves and others to be good or evil. It's a miserable business.

What God actually wanted for us is the tree of life. The Bible starts with that tree and ends with it in Revelation 22, where the tree brings healing to the nations. Instead of causing us to be obsessed with knowing and judging good and evil -- the essence of religion -- the tree of life offers us freedom from all that through Jesus' breathtaking act of hanging on a tree.

So from now on, I choose not to judge myself. I choose to surrender to the process of being transformed from one degree of glory to the next. I choose to believe in the pleasure God takes in the process. I choose the tree of life.

- Anne

Giant trees and wild surf - Eureka and Fortuna, CA

Fortuna and Eureka from Andrew Douglas on Vimeo.

Declaration of Dependance

I'm an oldest child; I like to blaze trails. I like to do things by myself. Don't even suggest that it would be better to do something together, because I want to do it on my terms, in my timing. 

I've been told I have a gift of apostleship. It's the gift that drives missionaries, church planters and entrepreneurs. An apostle isn't satisfied with the here and now; she wants to create new venues and expressions, visit new places and bring new aspects of the Kingdom of God to communities. New relationships excite me. I like meeting new people and hearing their stories. I love considering what God has in store for me and others. 

But the dark side of the apostle/oldest child combination is independence. And independence is just code for "I don't need anyone." And that's actually a lie. 

A few weeks ago, when our group at school visited a ropes course, it was a wake-up call to dependence. I expected it to be like the ropes course at camp: everyone stands at the bottom and watches while the person on the rope displays their awesomeness at overcoming fear and getting across. Imagine my dismay when our ropes instructor, Larry, took our group of eight to the top and told us that we had to get across the course - all connected. I admit I was not thinking very nice things about Larry.

But what I expected and what happened were two very different things. It was actually being a team that got us across the course. Many times, our collective strength and balance kept us up there when one of us would have fallen. There were times when I clung to others, practically eyeball-to-eyeball, and every straining muscle in my body was grateful that I wasn't up there alone. 

Also, I noticed that it was way more fun and pressure-free to do the course as a team. It completely freed us of performance issues. 

A few months ago, I gave a second-year student a ride home from the church. She asked me how it was going so far. "Honestly?" I said, "Being here is a dream come true and I thought I'd be ecstatic all the time. But sometimes I feel overwhelmed." She laughed and said, "Don't worry, I felt that way last year too. But it's okay to feel like that. It's important to be vulnerable, because to be vulnerable is to be brave." That has proven prophetic. 

Recently we had a speaker who talked about dependence being our only job. She said Jesus told us we're branches and He's the vine. And the only job a branch has is to be dependent on the vine and just hang there, receiving nutrients. It doesn't create leaves or fruit on its own. In fact, it can only bear fruit if it learns to be dependent. 

Okay, I'm sensing a theme in all of this. When I talked about my independence with an older friend here, she nodded and said gravely, "Yes, God asked me to repent of that myself a few years ago." Repent? Really? It's actually a sin? 

So I did. I told God that I don't want to try to do things on my own any more. I told Him I need Him, and that I need Andrew, family and friends. I know it might take some time for me to learn to live that out, and that change may be gradual, but my Jesus is patient with me. 

Video - A weekend in November

A weekend in November from Andrew Douglas on Vimeo.

A new way of worship

I’m not feeling God’s presence in worship very much these days.

Maybe for some people, that’s not a big deal. But for me, over the last few years, worship has become the most important thing in my life. I have felt more alive, more free, more beautiful and more loved in worship than anywhere else. It completes me. One of my main desires in coming to Bethel was to go deeper with God in worship. And yet here I am sensing His presence even less than before.

Until about seven years ago, I felt nothing in worship except enjoyment for the music itself. Then something shifted. I had times of being filled with the Holy Spirit. And feeling His presence after years of feeling nothing was like a cup of cold water in the desert. Finally, this felt like a real relationship. My heart came alive when I praised and adored and experienced the King of kings. I treasured those new moments of intimacy with God. I felt His favour, His approval and His pleasure. And so I was thrilled to come to Bethel where His presence is known to be so tangible, where people are free to enjoy His presence in extreme ways.

And now, I barely feel Him. And it makes it especially hard that so many around me have dramatic experiences in worship.

People say, “don’t trust your feelings.” Okay, but feelings ARE important or God wouldn’t allow us to experience Him tangibly. Throughout scripture, God has deep emotions and expresses them.

Now, in worship, I feel what Isaiah talked about in chapter 6, when He was taken up into the presence of the Lord: “Woe is me. I am a man of unclean lips.” These days, in worship, I just feel raw and undone.

The other day, I was sitting at the back of the auditorium during worship blinking back tears. Then a song with the words, “Holy, holy, holy is the Lord God Almighty” began. And I realized. I couldn’t sit and feel sorry for myself anymore. I had to stand, raise my hands and give this Holy God, the God of the universe, His due. Because He is holy. And He deserves praise, whether it’s an intimate experience of His presence, or a sacrifice of praise.

I think I’m going to trust that He is doing a new work of worship in me and it’s okay that it doesn’t feel like it used to.  

           -- Anne

Video - Trip to the salmon hatchery

Salmon run - Oct 2012 from Andrew Douglas on Vimeo.

Running in circles

I ran the US Half Marathon in San Francisco two weekends ago. It was an out-and-back course -- out from Fisherman's Wharf, through the Presidio, over the Golden Gate Bridge, and back. 

The day before the race

It was an out-and-back experience in other ways too. Emotions and memories overwhelmed me through the last half of the race. By the time I crossed the finish line I was a mess.

The last time I was in San Francisco -- almost exactly six years ago -- it was the tail end of the worst two weeks of my life. Anne and I were publishing DogSport magazine and we had hit rock bottom. We were broke. Before arriving in San Francisco I lost my wallet and passport in Arizona and then suffered through a disappointing tradeshow for the magazine. Then the gas got shut off back home in Guelph leaving Anne in crisis trying to shuffle debt around to make room to pay an overdue bill -- all with our three young kids in tow and winter looming. By the time I rolled into Northern California in time for the wedding of a close friend, I felt completely strung out and desperately alone and hopeless.

But that trip also began a great spiritual awakening for me. At my lowest possible point, God met me. Things didn't miraculously turn around financially until a few years later. But in my desperate state that November six years ago, I felt Jesus' love so tangibly that it marked me and changed me forever.

None of this was on my mind three weeks ago when I booked our hotel room. I'd been training for this race for a few months, running through the beautiful high desert landscape around Redding. I was ready and excited. I felt sure that I could finish the half-marathon in under 2 hours. 

Then something went wrong. Before we left Redding our Visa card failed. It didn't make sense -- we were paid up. I didn't have time to figure out the issue but the feelings of dread surfaced quickly. I learned later that it was simply that our address hadn't been updated properly. But at the time, all I could I remember were the feelings of panic that come with having a credit card declined. Poverty and hopelessness swept in like a grey fog. It's like I was transported back into the DogSport years.

The hotel I found was the cheapest available that still looked clean and safe. It was within walking distance of Fisherman's Wharf and Lombard Street. And, it turns out, it had a history.

When we pulled into the parking lot, carved into an impossibly steep downtown street, I knew I'd been there before. But I couldn't place it.

Then it hit me. It was the same hotel I'd stayed at before the wedding six years ago. Anne and the kids spilled into the room, tickling and laughing and planning the afternoon in one of the most beautiful cities in the world. I stood outside for a few minutes, looking out into the hotel's courtyard, marveling at God's patience and love and protection. He was bringing me full circle. First the Visa card and now the hotel. There was something He wanted to do this weekend.

The next morning, as I rounded the halfway mark of the race, painful memories of failure and poverty from the past mixed with new hope and faith and anticipation. The Golden Gate Bridge carried me over the bay and back towards the city on the homeward stretch. The view was breathtaking as the sun burned away the morning fog over the skyline. My perspective had changed so much in six years. I was a new man. 


I missed my goal by 12 minutes but I found something much more important that morning. I saw into my past and God showed me how much He'd redeemed. God led me back to the same place I'd been to show me how far I'd come. There was much healing during that long run. I feel more free of my past failures and more open to God's leading after this weekend.

This isn't a story of me returning as a conquering hero having figured life out in the intervening time. But I am more sure of God's love for me now, and so aware of His presence. He loves me... and that's enough. 

Anne and the kids met me at the finish line. The race was done. We piled into the car and headed back to our temporary home in Redding. Soon it will be time to start the next race. This one's going to be a grand God adventure. And this time, I won't be running alone.

On a tour of San Francisco Bay, watching dolphins and harbor seals play in the boat's wake

Prophecy: Not just for locust-eaters any more

I've had the opportunity to receive prophetic words a few times since we arrived at Bethel. "Prophetic" is a new word in common usage in my vocabulary. Five years ago, if you'd said the word "prophecy" to me, I would have assumed you were talking about the Old Testament prophets, or possibly John the Baptist.

But amongst the crazy Christians I'm now acquainted with, "prophecy" has taken on a different significance. It means God speaking into the here and now to communicate to us what His plans and purposes are.

After all, if we have the mind of Christ and we're His sheep who hear His voice, we should be able to hear what He has to say about the world and the people in it, right?

Also, Acts 2 talks about how we're living in a time when sons and daughters prophesy. No longer is the function of a prophet just left up to the dudes who wear animal skins and eat locusts, it's for all of us.

The other day at school, we had an opportunity to receive prophecy from second-year students here. I sat down with a young couple in their late twenties. The guy took one look at me and said, "Do you write, at all?" I nodded. He said, "I feel like you have a strong gift for writing and God is really going to bless that... maybe it's a book." K. This guy just met me. How did he know that?

They went on to speak really encouraging things about me. About all kinds of areas of my life -- from home to ministry to social situations. And about how God plans to bless those areas.

God is so interested in speaking to us. He longs for a living, active relationship with us in which we hear His voice. And He understands that there are so many negative voices -- in our heads and in the world -- that are discouraging. Coming here has been tough on an identity that rested for years on the laurels of close friends and a small church community that knew me well. Now, here, with no job, ministry, friends, family or even familiar faces, hearing how God sees me and my gifts and my life is even more powerful.

I believe He wants to encourage us by how He sees us. In His eyes, we are righteous, holy, powerful world-changers. We are His sons and daughters. He wants to tell us about His plans and gifts for us so we learn who we really are.

Family life

Anne is braiding Emma’s hair. Cam figured out a new worship song on his guitar. Now he’s playing with his iPod. Cassie’s sleepy. Story’s curled up at my feet.

It’s quiet.

We hang out a lot these days, the six of us.

“Didn’t you say you saw Papa’s double, his doppelganger?” says Cam.

His what?

We laugh.

But seriously. Pause. I need to look this word up on Google.

...

“Man you’re smart,” I tell Cam.

These last few weeks have been like none other we’ve had as a family. We’re in a small house with only one common living space. There’s no TV. No phone ringing. Not much to do in the evenings. Just miles and miles of us.

Our friend Jim Klaas told us this would happen. He told us he couldn’t guarantee that moving to California would be the best thing for Anne and me but that for our kids and our family, it would be transformative. We’d have to figure things out together. We’d have to lean on each other. It’s happening.

I watched Emma and Cassie playing in our local playground this afternoon after school while I tossed the frisbee for Story. Then they each took one roller blade boot, balancing on one foot, and awkwardly rolled home. I followed, squawking about staying on the sidewalk. It was beautiful.

Cam and I listen to NPR together in the mornings while driving to school. We figure out the world together while squinting into these dazzling sunrises over the mountains.

We had a good family life in Guelph. But now, when there’s only us, and we’re all learning so much about God, it’s extra special.

We miss you back home. But for now, right here, this is good.

Thanks Jim, you were right.

             -- Andrew

Why Bethel?

For those of you wondering what the heck we're doing here and why, a promo video.

Checks and plates

I like America. I’ve traveled enough in the US to know that this isn’t a passing fancy or infatuation. America is good. We’re happy here.

But America and I still misunderstand each other.

The cheques... sorry, I mean, “checks”... we ordered from the local bank have this fantastic image of an American flag ghosted behind the Statue of Liberty. They scream Amurika. I love them.

I pointed to this particular check out of a page’s worth of more subtle ones decorated with typical images of mountains and lakes and birds. Anne thought my choice was hilarious. We had a good laugh.The bank manager looked at us with a blank face. She didn’t get it. I guess even over-the-top patriotism isn’t funny.

I’m really just a visitor here. My visa says I’m a student with limited rights. Canada is cutting ties. The bureaucracy in Ottawa is barely willing to acknowledge me. I’m feeling stateless.

I want to have an identity, to be patriotic. I live in California but I listen to CBC’s The World at Six while making dinner. The Arab world is blowing up again. I want a Canadian perspective, not trusting the crazy polarized opinions you get from ridiculous East Coast NPR liberals on the one hand and the hopeless, angry conspiracy theories from right-wing AM talk radio on the other. Last night I watched the CTV National News online while rubbing my sore thighs still recovering from a long run... that I measured in kilometers.

Who am I? Where do I belong?


Back home, I left some very close friends at work. Even some clients became more than just customers. I offered up heartfelt prayers for the people I was around every day. I still pray for them. But they must shake their heads when they hear this new story that I’m writing since we left for Redding. No longer am I Andrew Douglas, senior public relations specialist. Suddenly I’m this raw, unchecked crazy man, pouring out his heart, crying out to God.

Where did this all come from? How could it be happening so quickly?

God is moving fast. Deep down, I am a man becoming more and more convinced that the rest of my life will be lived in radical obedience to Jesus at every moment of the day, with every thought that passes through my head. He is too good and life is too short. This is what we’re called to. It’s the normal Christian life. And living life this way is the door to love beyond measure. 

But it’s hard.

I still want to control things. There isn’t a road map for radicals. I trust Him... I think.

The other day we picked up California license plates for our car. Our old Ontario plates wouldn't come off. The bolts were rusted on. A mechanic put a wrench to them and they broke right off, forcing him to drill them out.

The new plates are on now. I tightened the bolts myself, although I didn’t put too much weight into the final torque of the wrench. After all, who knows where God will lead us in nine months and what license plates we’ll need. We’d better keep these ones loose. My identity change isn’t over yet.
   
            - Andrew

Little children

I was shaken from my thoughts by the scratch of colored pencils and the pitter-patter of little feet, girls floating about the room waving flags and dancing on tippy toes.

It’s not what I’d come for. But it was good.

I’d come to the worship room at Bethel with Anne. I was looking for peace. It felt like the next step in my journey -- learning to sit at Jesus’ feet and worship and pray in spirit and in truth, as the bible says.

The worship was simple... but transcendent. It was just a a guy with a guitar and a woman singing. They let God lead, signing continuously over the 30 or 40 people in the room for an hour or more.

I closed my eyes and let God move. Deeper. Search me.
And then they arrived. A whole mess of kids from Bethel Christian School upstairs. I was in quiet contemplation. They approached God more... vigorously. The young girls flitted about the room. The boys whispered to each other as they drew pictures.

The musicians changed. A young man took to the piano and sang familiar Bethel worship songs. The room filled with the voices of the children, singing along unashamedly while hands dug through pencil cases for the right shade of red or a sharper pencil.

It wasn’t distracting. It didn’t offend me. God didn’t run away. The Holy Spirit didn’t leave.

It was heaven.

Soon, a familiar face appeared beside me. “I’ve been praying for you, standing behind you,” whispered Cassie, her class having arrived earlier.

My heart moved.

I spent a day not long ago alone in our new home, devoting the whole time to God. I listened to worship music while running. I read my bible. I lay down for a long time, praying and listening to worship music. I'd worked hard but by the end of the day I felt more empty than ever. “Lord, come fast, please!” was the final line of my journal entry.

It’s been a month since we left Ontario. A lot has happened. My old self seems a thousand miles away. I’ve forgiven, repented, opened up to God, and sought Him with more abandon than ever before.

The morning in the worship room I wrote, “Lord, I know you love me. Come against anything in me that blocks your love.” 

The Holy Spirit led me to Song of Songs 2:7, God’s passionate love letter to us. “Do not arouse or awaken love until it so desires.”

He came that day. Maybe He knew that I needed to sort some stuff out before He took me to the next level of fascination and devotion. I’m ready for more, Lord. I need your love. I won’t confuse it with anything else or let it get mixed up with religion or work or my ego. I'm ready. I just want your love.

                       -- Andrew

Windows in Heaven

Last Friday I was sitting in the garden outside the prayer chapel at Bethel. The garden has a fountain and a statue of a lion and it overlooks the west side of Redding. You can see the mountains on the horizon. Right now, it’s hazy because of the forest fires but normally the snow-capped mount Shasta is breathtaking.

I was reading about Elisha. Actually, I was reading about his friend the Shunammite woman. These two had an interesting friendship. She decorated a room in her home for him, which means she must have felt very drawn to him, enough to want him around as much as possible. After that, he prophesied that she would give birth, and she did. When her son died, Elisha resurrected him from the dead. That makes for a close bond.

Anyway, Syria besieged and plundered Israel, so that the famine in Israel was horrific. Before this, Elisha warned the Shunammite that famine was coming and suggested that she gather her family and go on a trip to a prosperous countryside. She took his advice and sojourned in the land of the Philistines.  

After seven long years, Elisha prophesied that God would turn things around in a day. And God did. Within 24 hours, the Israelites were virtually swimming in provisions. Not only that, but when the Shunammite came back, the king recognized her as Elisha’s friend and completely restored everything she owned before she left.

I liked this story because of the details about Elisha’s friend but also because of this line that an army official asked, “If the Lord himself could make windows in heaven, could such a thing happen?”

That’s how I felt about our house hunt. Five applications, five rejections. Dozens of phone calls, ads and showings. Could even God find us a house to rent? We had no prospects. Nothing. Since the long weekend was ahead of us, we were resigning ourselves to another four days to a week crammed in one hotel room. Another $800 down the drain.

But what I wrote in my journal that morning to summarize the story of 2 Kings 7 and 8 was this: God turned the tide of favor and provision in an instant.

And that’s exactly what He did for us a few hours later. That evening, Andrew got a phone call from one landlord who had previously said they wouldn’t allow dogs and anyway, we were fifth in line for the house. Within 24 hours of that phone call, we were in our new house. And it’s furnished. And it’s a good location. And it’s across from a nature reserve with walking trails.

I feel like the Shunammite woman, bathed in the favor of God because of my friendship with the Man of God. At times during those seven years she must have felt like the sojourn would never end.

But it did. And everything she lost was given back.

If you’re in a time of famine or on a sojourn that feels endless, remember the Shunammite. God can change everything in a heartbeat. Sometimes, windows in heaven open up. 

- Anne

Coffee culture shock

“I’m sorry, sir, I just really don’t understand what you want.”

By this time, both the Starbucks barista and I were talking to each other like we were five-year-olds.

“I want a LARGE. Coffee. With double. C-R-E-A-M… TWO cream.”

Long pause, then the drive-thru squawk box came to life. “So… just lots and lots of cream?”

This wasn’t the worst California coffee culture shock I’ve experienced. That occurred one mid afternoon when I pulled up to the Human Bean coffee shop in Redding and asked for a black coffee. The person seemed flummoxed and explained that she had brewed her last pot much earlier in the day and wasn’t about to make a cup of coffee just for me.

“So… why are you open?”

Long pause. “Well, I can make you an iced coffee.”

I told the Starbucks gal about double-doubles (two cream, two sugar). She filled me in on “free pouring” cream.  I explained to the Human Bean woman that “brewed” coffee was surely just as good at 1 in the afternoon as 7 in the morning. She tempted me with cold coffee – to no avail, I might add.

There have been other moments of culture shock. Take water use. As good Canadian eco-friendly granola eaters, we let our lawn back in Guelph die in the hot summer sun. But here in the quasi-desert, every single lawn in town gets a daily soaking from automatic sprinklers. Our local nature preserve is yellow and dead. The lawn in front of our new rental home a block away is lush and green.

Then, sitting on the grass in front of a trendy coffee shop serving fresh organic salads, I was asked to move so the landscaper could apply an insecticide. And our car was rigorously smog checked before we could obtain our California plates, presumably so I could join everyone else endlessly idling their cars in front of schools and shops.

But this is beginning to feel like home. I have come to fully expect long, lovely conversations with the Walmart cashier. I’m getting used to seeing the mountains every morning. I’m completely sold on the hot, dry weather. I’ll never get tired of seeing the real California Highway Patrol, imagining Eric Estrada of the 80s TV show “CHIPs” radioing me to help in a high-speed chase.

This is a cool place. I’m glad I’m here.

Tomorrow’s blog entry? I try to order poutine at In-N-Out Burger.

         -- Andrew

Why I'm here

“So, why are you there?”

I let the question hang while I thought about it. I was sitting on a sun-soaked park bench just off the Bethel Church parking lot. Bethel’s the place of which I’ve dreamed for over a year. My bench is just outside a prayer room with an indoor water fountain that gurgles to the outside, spilling water into a pond full of multi-coloured fish. The church sits at the top of a big hill at the end of a long avenue lined with flags from around the world. California is beautiful. The people are kind. It’s not hard to feel like we’ve made a good choice.

The question came over the phone from one of my closest friends. We’ve been through a lot together. He’d been my boss but our relationship evolved a long time ago into something much deeper. He knows it’s been a tough transition for me. He’s concerned.

“That’s a good question,” I say, biding myself time.

It’s not that quitting my job, selling our house, spending our life savings to go to Bethel was an impetuous decision. It’s that it was such a monumental choice that it’s hard to boil all the emotion and logic down to a short answer.

I’m sure a lot of people in my life asked a similar question when they first heard our plans. Some probably think we’ve been tricked into living on some whacko religious compound. Some chalk it up to a mid-life crisis. Others think I’m smoking dope.

“It’s because…”

I muddled my answer, which often happens when I tackle that question.

But now, in our hotel room with the sun setting and the kids doing their homework, I’d like to try again.

• I’m here because more and more I can’t read the gospels anyway but literally
• I’m here because I need God more than I need a nicer house, a better car, or cable TV
• I’m here because God called us here in a very clear voice.

Believe me, I’m not boasting. I’m a sinner saved by grace.

Maybe that’s the real truth about why I'm here. I’ve been low. I crawled to God and He lifted me up. God loves me and I want more of Him. He is Lord. Of course I’d sell everything for Him.

“I love you man,” my friend said before leaving me with other parting words full of grace.  

I love him too.

- Andrew

Home

Right now, most of my camp friends are returning home after a summer up north. Many of them are students heading off to set up a house in a university town. And good friends of ours in Guelph are in the midst of moving from a long-time family home to a new house. Lots of people are adjusting to new places to live right now. It's not easy. 

We've been living in hotels for two weeks and we're looking for a house to rent here in Redding for a week of that. And it's not going particularly well.

Some of the houses have been dingy and dark with stained carpeting. One house was a mobile home surrounded by broken cars and tractors. We've put in applications on four of them but so far, we haven't been chosen for any of them.

What is home? 

I remember our first home on Neeve Street, a 100-year old semi-detached with hardwood floors in a ragged part of Guelph. Our bedroom was the dining room because a double bed wouldn't fit up the stairs. We were so proud. I even planted vegetables. Two of our children were born while we lived there. But when the kids were young, home was a source of stress for me. It was my workplace. The laundry was endless and the kids' needs meant that mine always took the back seat. I was tormented by feelings of inadequacy as a mother and housekeeper. But still, it was where I belonged. I loved our homes in Guelph. 

My last home was a cabin at camp with mice and secondhand furniture and a lovely shady porch that at once felt private but with the comforting sounds of camp filtering up through the leaves. It was beautiful.

Where is home?

On the way here, our car and each other and God's invisible grip were home. And I was totally okay with that. But now I'm getting anxious to have drawers to put my underwear in. And the ability to make tea. And a cozy place to sit and read under a blanket that smells like home.

But all those comforts are just echoes of where we really belong. In reality, we are vagabonds, ragamuffins, passing through this world on our way to our real home, our heavenly one. Our true citizenship is in Heaven. 

Yesterday, I was reading about how a wealthy Shunammite woman set up a bedroom in her home for Elisha the prophet. I think she wanted him to hang out at her place and feel at home. But when she needed him to heal her son, she had to go find him in the mountains. He was more comfortable being uncomfortable, searching for the presence and voice of His God. 

And yesterday, I was listening to a quiet worship set and the musician was singing from Psalm 23. "You prepare a table for me," he sang. "I will dwell in Your house; I will dwell with you forever."

Bethel means "house of God." We have come to dwell in God's house. I know He will find us a place to make tea and store our underwear. He is preparing a table somewhere in Redding for our family. In fact, about a month ago, a dear friend shared a picture God gave her of Jesus setting a beautiful table for me. Then the picture changed to me preparing a table for others. I know Jesus is preparing a table for us right now and I know we will eat there and invite others to eat with us and it will be glorious.  

But more than that, He is preparing a table laden with a feast of abundant spiritual blessing for us. And we will dwell in the House of the Lord. He is our home. 

I'm sailing home to you I won't be long 

By the light of moon I will press on 

Until I find my love 

- Josh Garrels, Ulysses

- Anne

Cassie's first week at Bethel Christian School

Today I woke and still wasn't to used to the whole school thing. We woke up then my Dad dropped me, Emma and my mom off at the school. 

Because it's bad to inhale a lot of smoke, and there was smoke from the big forest fires, we had to have recess inside. It was really fun but sucky at the same time. 

My new friend, Neveah (heaven spelled backward), and I had a great time playing basketball. After snack we did spelling. YEAH! I love spelling. 

After practicing the verse of the week we had an amazing lunch in the cafeteria and then recess. Neveah and I did the same thing -- we played basketball. After that we did a few more subjects. Then, of course, we were dismissed. All in all I had a pretty good day. 

Love,

C:assie

P.S. The "C:" is a smiley face!!!!!  

Emma's first week at Bethel Christian School

The first week of school was really great! I made friends, I like my subjects and I had lots of fun. Everything in my school is Christ-centred. On the first day the very first thing we did was gather in the great hall for worship, then get acquainted with our classmates. At first, I had no one to sit with, but then a girl named Hannah came and sat with me. We talked for a bit, and I hung out with her at lunch and recess. I found out that she has been at Bethel for four years, she is from New Zealand and she loves dance.

In the gym/sanctuary on my first day at Bethel

 

 

I found all my classes and everything went smoothly until last period P.E. I was wandering around the hallway until finally I ran into some girls in my class and they pointed me in the right direction. I got there just in time. Our gym teacher, Ms. Cambonne, was JUST starting the class. We had free time because it was only the first day. There, I met another girl in my class named Leesha, and she is so nice! She is also here for a year while her parents are going to school, she is from Switzerland and she has three younger sisters.

The next day I went to school and sat by Leesha and helped her all day with her English. She is very good at speaking it but needs help writing. We hung out with Hannah at the breaks and had fun together.

The rest of the week went by quickly. I think I will become good friends with Leesha and my favourite subject will be Bible. Overall, I think I will love Bethel Christian School and California. My year is off to a good start!

Love,

Emma 

Cam's first week at Redding Christian School

Redding Christian School

I think if I had to pick one word to describe this week it would be "first." 

There have been too many firsts this week to count. Whether it was first time seeing Bethel, first day of school, first swim practice, first assignment, or first conversation. 

There have also been many hard moments, such as the first day of school. Partly because I had come two days late, and partly because the school was new to me, I had no idea who was who, what was what, or where anything was. 

One nice thing was the amount of time we spent as a family. Back in Guelph, it seemed like everyday was crammed full of things like hockey practices, youth, and friends. Now we have nothing. It’s been so nice.

 -- Cam

Nicky

Nicky lives in a tent. He says he has a house where he could stay if he wanted, but somehow I doubt it. His tent looks well lived in. There's a broken bike in the bushes. Clothes hang from gnarled branches. He carelessly tosses garbage into the brambles.

Tell me your story, I ask.

"I'm 60 years old. Born in Shasta. That's about all there is to say."

And that's all I get. So we sit for a bit. He sips the coffee I bought him as he plays his Soduko puzzle from a crumpled up newspaper. I can't tell if it's the San Francisco Chronicle or the Redding Record.

The silence makes me uncomfortable, so I tell him about myself. "I guess I'm not sure who I am right now, or what I'm going to be."

He nods. "I gotta figure out a way to make some money."

I had been watching Nicky for a while from a perch up on the hill above his camp. I thought I'd found a nice, safe park to sit and pray. I like going down by the Sacramento River. It's wide and fast moving. It looks swollen, which is strange because all along its banks it's so tinder dry, the smell of nearby raging forest fires in the air.

But I couldn't concentrate on my bible. I couldn't take my eyes off Nicky, entertaining visitors, other rough-looking folks going through their morning wake-up routine. It didn't appear he had much to say to them either.

I'm homeless too. Our financial advisor could put up a convincing argument that I'm at the other end of the homeless spectrum, but I wonder if Nicky and I share something more.

I tell him I'm worried that we can't find a place to live. I tell Nicky that I'm surprised at the wealth in California. I'm thinking of the gleaming white SUVs lined up at the kids' schools for pick-up and drop-off. I tell him I'm not sure where God fits into all this.

"Everything is God's," he says. "The air we breathe. The food you eat. The dope I sell. It's all God's."

And then he asks if he can pray for me. He asks God to open the right doors and shut the wrong ones. Sounds like something I'd say.

We talk some more. His life makes me sad. He points to a huddle of people about 30 yards away. "I knew their parents. Now I know the kids. I know everybody."

I'm pretty sure he's not talking about the parents picking up their kids at our school. But I don't doubt that he knows most of the people living in tents in Redding. I guess once again it's who you know, not what you know.

Later that day I find myself staring at an embroidered picture in a clean real estate office full of computers and designer water bottles and well-coiffed bleached blonde hair. It quotes 1 Corinthians 10:26, "For the earth is the Lord's, and everything in it."

I guess Nicky was right.

First day in Redding

This morning we woke up to the outline of palm trees against the dawn sky. Redding is a beautiful, sprawling city with a mountainous horizon and neat landscaping. And the people are extraordinarily friendly and polite, even amidst frenzied back-to-school shopping in Target. I didn't really expect that. 

We went to church at Bethel, the 8:30 am service. We got there 45 minutes early and already, one-third of the seats were taken. As I listened to Jesus Culture warm up to lead worship, I closed my eyes and felt the bass reverberate deep in my chest. We're finally here, I thought. For ten months, this is what we've been waiting for. 

Higher than the mountains that I face
Stronger than the power of the grave
Constant in the trial and the change
One Thing remains

The service started. The presence of God was thick in the room. I was warm and electric with it. And in that moment that I've been dreaming about for the better part of a year, I found myself thinking, Lord, I miss home and camp. Will you meet me here the way you did there? 

Your love never fails, it never gives up, it never runs out on me. 

In the sermon based on David's experiences in 1 Samuel 26-30, Eric Johnson talked about how there are times when we feel displaced or alone, when we need to learn how to strengthen ourselves in the Lord and not rely on others to do it for us. We need to remind ourselves of the promises He's given us and of how He sees us. 

In a vulnerable moment, this hearing impaired son of one of the greatest healing revivalists of our time shared about how weary we can get in our pursuit of the promises of God. How, like many of David's men in 1 Samuel 30, sometimes we just need to sit by the stream and rest for a while. 

On and on and on and on it goes
And it overwhelms and satisfies my soul
And I never ever have to be afraid
One Thing remains

In the afternoon, we sat by the pool in the dry 38-degree weather sipping lattes and watching the kids swim. It was glorious. And a few tears slid down under my sunglasses as I thought about what we left behind. 

I will remind myself of His promises. And I will sit by the stream and rest for awhile. 

- Anne