Now What?

So you gave your heart to Jesus! You’re born again!  Saved!  Washed in the blood of the Lamb!   Sins have been forgiven!  Your acceptance of the work of the cross has placed you in right standing with the God of the Universe!  He dwells in you!

Now what?  I mean, what is the next step?  

How exactly do you handle this explosive power of God coursing through your veins?  Your mind is bursting with new ideas. New emotions (like love, joy, and peace) are bombarding your “old” emotions (like anger, sadness, and fear).  You are a willing soldier in the army of God – willing to do anything, go anywhere – waiting for your marching orders.  Your spring is wound in anticipation of launching something; your engine is revved; the arrow is set; the bow is drawn.

Now what?  I mean, what is the next step?

My first day as a Christian, I didn’t even know what had happened to me.  I phoned a friend and described to her what was going on.  She laughed and then explained, “Oh, honey, you’ve accepted Jesus Christ as your Lord and Savior. You’ve been born again!” 

That day I declared that I was going to love everybody!  That’s how much of His love I had been filled with.  But how?  How does one go about loving everybody?

Maybe church was a beginning.  I wasn’t in church at the time, so I called a pastor I knew.  He had moved, but he was glad to give me direction.  Continue to read the Bible.  Pray.  Get in church.  I knew what he meant.  Don’t just go to church – GET IN church.  There’s a difference.  I decided to take his advice.

I went back to the last church I had attended.  It was totally new to me.  Oh, the building was the same.  Most of the congregation I had met before.  But it was new.  It felt new.  It was not intimidating.  It was inviting.  It wasn’t a place I had to go to.  I wanted to be there. It felt fresh and new!  Well, I was new.  Maybe that’s why it seemed so new.  And did I mention it felt new?

We were met in the parking lot by a neighbor who started asking me about my relationship with God.  He wanted to know if I was saved.  I was delighted to tell him, “Yes!”  He was delighted to hear it.  I’m not sure what I was expecting, but not that.  I had talked to this man several times before, but never about the things of God.  Can you imagine my surprise?  I stepped out of the car and was immediately greeted by a familiar face and an evangelist to boot!!  I’m sure it was God’s way of reassuring me as I started on my new path.  I felt not only new, but clean.  I had answers.  I didn’t have to hem-haw my way around church parlance.  I belonged.  I was a part of it. I liked this Christianity.  My confidence was growing.

How had I missed it all those years before?  Same church, same people, but when God opens your eyes, He really opens your eyes.  No time to worry about the past now, too much to learn in the present.

I continued to read the Bible.  That’s another eye-opener.  It opens your spiritual eyes —   gives you insight, wisdom, a design for life.  It’s all in there; you just have to read it.  Of course, never content with the sensible way, I looked for checklists, how-to’s, and shortcuts.

Isn’t there a list of what a Christian should do and say?  Surely there’s a manual of how-to’s and DIY’s?  I’m a fast learner.  I can work on this in the next few months and have it down pat by the first of the year.  After all, I’m a new creation.  Surely I can create an outline and just fill in the details.

LORD, all I need is for you to give me the master plan for all the days of my life.  Once I know where I’m headed, I can expand the blueprint and insert the particulars – add windows here, a supply closet over there, maybe a laundry/mud room, and perhaps a gazebo in the garden.  Easy as pie!

Who knew that what I really needed was a map – a map of the mine field I was about to enter?  Who knew that the enemy of my soul was trying to kill, steal and destroy – even in my thoughts and dreams?  Who knew that every day I would have only enough “intel” for just that day?  

Every footstep I took signified deeper penetration into enemy territory.  I had to move circumspectly, keep the lines of communication open, trust that supply lines would remain intact, rely on my fellow soldiers, and follow my commanding officer with unwavering obedience.

And gear!  I would need to wear adequate armor and carry the appropriate weaponry.  Add that to your morning schedule.  Is there even time for a bagel?  

There was no end to this Christianity.

Oh, and that’s the point, isn’t it?  It is eternal.  It goes on forever, world without end.  Amen.

“I know whom I have believed and am persuaded that He is able to keep that which I’ve committed unto Him against that day.” —   2 Timothy 1:12

What’s In A Name?

“These groceries are heavy,” I thought to myself.  I pushed open the front door, made it to the kitchen table and plopped them there.  I retrieved all the perishable items and reached for the refrigerator door.  That’s when I felt an urgent need to pray.  I grabbed onto the handle, slipped to my knees and began to pray.

I didn’t know what I was praying for.  I was just praying.  Crying out to God, weeping loudly, interceding for whatever it was His Spirit was praying through me.  I’m not sure how long I stayed there on the kitchen floor.  It could have been ten minutes or twenty or more.  I was compelled to pray.  

When He released me, I rose and finished putting away the groceries, curious as to what that was all about.  

Missionaries are always telling us stories about times when they were in danger.   People back home were awakened by the Holy Spirit to pray for their safety, and God worked a miracle for them.

A lady in my church told me about a time when she was feeling very alone.  She let God know in no uncertain terms that nobody cared whether she lived or died.  Nobody cared if her children had food and clothes.  She was totally alone on this earth, and nobody cared.

God opened a window into heavenly realms for her that day.  He showed her all the people all over the world who were crying out for her and her children in many languages.  She was astonished that God loved her so much that He had raised up international prayer warriors just for her.  She never felt alone again and never bothered to lift up a complaint again.  She also never missed an opportunity to pray for others.  She rested in Christ and His assurance.

As a new Christian, I started making prayer lists.  The Lord wanted me to pray for a lot of people.  I wasn’t to dwell on specific needs – just lift up their names before Him daily.  I surmised that He was teaching me something about the importance of names and the importance of His name in particular.

I did this for years, adding names as fast as they came into my mind or into my life.  There was a boy named Duffy on my son’s swim team.  I didn’t know him, but I was intrigued by his name, so I put him on my prayer list.

I organized the names into groups:  people at church, people at work, people in the neighborhood, people I met in business establishments, old friends, missionaries, government officials, people with urgent needs – lots of people, lots of groups. 

It wasn’t a burden to pray.  It didn’t take a lot of time.  But it certainly did cover a lot of territory.  I liked this daily discipline.  Oh, I continued to pray in other, more traditional ways, too, but this was a special time every morning just between Jesus and me. 

Still, I couldn’t help wondering if these “name prayers” were doing any good.  So I asked God, “Are these ‘name prayers’ doing any good?”  I soon had my answer.  

I drove a friend from church home from the grocery store one day and was helping her carry the bags inside.  We were greeted by a gaggle of teenagers just home from school.  I knew her daughter Amy, but not the other kids, so I asked them their names.

“John.”

“Jason.”

“Susan.”

“I’m Duffy.”

“Duffy,” I repeated in amazement.  “Are you the same Duffy on the swim team?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Nice to meet you, Duffy,” I said as I shook his hand a little too enthusiastically.  “I’ve been praying for you.”

It shocked me.  It shocked him more.  

Thank you, Jesus.  I guess those “name prayers” are doing some good.

A few days later I received another answer.  I learned the reason behind the urgent prayer on my kitchen floor.  My sister called from Virginia to let me know about the fire.

“It was in the condo next door,” she told me. “I was scared it would burn mine, too, but the strangest thing happened.  It burned right up to the firewall and stopped.  My condo had no damage at all.”

“When was this,” I asked, “what time of day?”

Of course.  It was at the exact time I slid down beside the refrigerator and began to intercede.  

”Take the helmet of salvation and the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God.  And pray in the Spirit on all occasions with all kinds of prayers and requests. With this in mind, be alert and always keep on praying for all the saints. 

Pray also for me, that whenever I open my mouth, words may be given me so that I will fearlessly make known the mystery of the gospel, for which I am an ambassador in chains. Pray that I may declare it fearlessly, as I should.” — Ephesians 6:17-20 (NIV)

Sisters

Being in fellowship with the women of God is an encouragement we need often.  “Iron sharpens iron” and all that.  I have learned so much from my sisters in Christ.

For instance, one sister told me she knows when God is trying to get her attention.  She hears the doorbell ring.  Nobody is there, of course.  It’s God reminding her that He wants in.

Another shared a “Be still and know that I am God” moment.  She had a turbulent adolescence — promiscuity, self-abasement and cutting.  Even after giving her heart and life to Jesus, occasionally self-destructive thoughts — fiery darts from the enemy — would assail her.  She knew she needed to get alone with God and allow Him to expose the accuser for what he is — a liar!

One day the panic began when she was shopping in a large department store.  She couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe.  She knew she had to get alone with God, but where?  Be still.  Be still.  Be still.  She ran into the restroom and locked herself in a stall.

She sat down and got very, very still.  Then she heard His voice, calming her, reassuring her, loving her.  She walked out of that place a restored woman.

So many women have talked about the kitchen sink.  That’s where they go to busy their hands and free their minds to concentrate on spiritual matters.  I tried it; it works!

Vacuuming is a wonderful time to pray.  You can scream, shout, praise, laugh, anything you feel like communicating to the Master.  He listens and hears.  Others don’t.

One of our church ladies rejoiced at the mailbox when she received bills.  This is the truth.  God delivered her from a life of prostitution and drug addiction.  She was constantly having the lights and water turned off and being evicted from apartments because she spent all her money on other things.

When Jesus saved her soul, she began earning a legitimate income, got a place to live, heat, water, food, clothes.  It was a dream come true.  So she rejoiced when the bills showed up.  She was able to pay them and remembered to thank Jesus every time.

“When I was a little girl, whenever I made my mud pies, I always made one for Jesus,” Louanna recounted.  “And when I walked on the sidewalk, I moved over to make enough room for Jesus to walk right beside me.”  

Louanna was dying.  She had liver cancer and did not have long to live.  Her husband set up a hospital bed in the living room, and there she spent her last days.  She liked to hear her husband play the guitar and sing.  It soothed her.

One evening he sang Amazing Grace.  When he got to the part, “When we’ve been there ten thousand years …,” Louanna rose to a sitting position, reached toward heaven and went to be with Jesus.”  Just like that!

Clara was one of the first people I met when I moved to Nashville.  In her 80’s she was still bright-eyed and beautiful.  She was bedridden and lived in a residential care facility.  She had many things physically wrong with her, but I never knew what they were.  She never shared.

Her primary concern was, “How are you?  Tell me what the children are doing.  What’s happening at church?  Tell me about your day.  What did you do last week?”

She was hip.  She knew the latest expressions.  She kept up with the lives of the people around her.  She was a good listener, and always asked questions that made you think about God’s blessings in your life.  She died alone, having given her all to the encouragement and uplifting of others.  Not as a sacrifice, but as a privilege.

Tommie was married for “about a hundred years” to a man who refused to even discuss Jesus.  She was faithful in her prayers for him and loved him lavishly.  She was faithful in her service to the Lord and loved Him lavishly, too.  I don’t know all of what she suffered in her marriage because Tommie was a cheerful person who didn’t discuss her sorrows.  She had a great sense of humor.  Even grumpy teenagers wanted to be around her.  She was edifying.  

One day her husband asked to be baptized.  So he was.  A few weeks later he died.

Now this is poor.  A young mother in my church told me she kept a sack of socks that were stained, tattered and hole-y.  That way if the socks they were wearing got to be in worse shape than the ones in the bag, they would always have socks to put on.

She was also the woman who received a BIG BONUS because God gave her insight and wisdom to correct a system they were using in the office.  Her idea saved the company thousands of dollars.

I have known countless grandmothers who are raising their grandchildren.  

Who are the cooks in the church?  Stand up, ladies, and let us give you a round of applause.  My family has been blessed with three-course meals that are the envy of top chefs around the world.  The homemade bread and desserts alone are too sumptuous to even talk about without drooling.  And they do it because they love Jesus.  

They mix it up, cook it up, serve it up, and give it away.

Some of them don’t even need much notice.  “Sure, I can take something over to that family.  Have it there in a jiffy.”

My daughter attended a church celebration in Baxter Springs, Kansas where the ladies wore costume dress gowns.  “Why, you look like a true Southern Belle,” the women commented when they saw her.

“Oh, you haven’t met Jo Payne!” she replied.  Jo was the true Southern Belle back home at her church in Tennessee.

They came from Puerto Rico, married and moved to Boston, stopped briefly in Tennessee, and were off again on another adventure for the Lord.  These two sisters were amazing.  They each had a young son when I met them.  Their mother doted on the boys and outfitted them handsomely.

When my daughter was pregnant with her son, they doubly gifted her with clothes in sizes from preemie to 4T!!  Without hesitation.  Generous, talented, spirited.  Gracias, hermanas!

“Praise God!  It’s raining!”  Pauline was grateful for everything.  All the other women coming in for Bible Study were complaining, but not Pauline.  She was in her late 70’s then and accustomed to living off the land in Montana.  She knew how to be content in whatever state, even Tennessee.

Margaret was a devoted daughter, nursing her mother and father through illnesses and bidding them farewell as they went home to be with Jesus.  She was a devoted sister to her brother who pastored a large and thriving church.  She was a devoted aunt to the nephews and nieces she supported in prayer while they were on the mission field.  She was a devoted friend who encouraged hearts and minds with love and tenderness.

Military wife.  Susan breezed into town for a year with her husband and their charming children and immediately fully immersed herself in the church and in the community.  She didn’t wait to be asked.  She offered.  Her talents were unlimited, just like her heart.  She gave freely — whatever was needed — money, time, food and lots of laughs.  She knew the importance of surrounding her family with Christian family.  And she exemplified the best of Christian charity.  

Another sister spent her growing up years in Arkansas in a children’s home, where the houseparents faithfully took the children to church. That’s where she met Jesus.  Her life did not magically turn around, though.  In fact, it got worse.  Then it got ‘way better.  Eventually she and her husband were tapped to head an international ministry for people with life-controlling problems.  As they humbled themselves before the Lord, He lifted them up.

My Asian sister was saved when she was young and received daily beatings from her family because of her faith in Christ.  She has maintained her steadfast witness for the Lord through great sacrifice.  What a joy when her parents attended the baptism of her children!

I love to visit a sister’s home for the first time. Almost without fail she will take me to a special place and point with pride as she explains, “This is where I have my prayer time,” or “This is where I sit to read my Bible.”

There is usually a plaque with her favorite scripture printed on it hanging in a place of honor, and she will tell me the story that goes with it.

So what do you think about the sisters you’ve met so far?  They may not spend time fixing themselves up or shopping for the latest fashions, but did you notice?  My sisters are lookin’ good.  Why, they look like Jesus!

“And be not conformed to this world: but be ye transformed by the renewing of your mind, that ye may prove what is that good, and acceptable, and perfect, will of God. “           — Romans 12:2

Tattered Jeans

“Come to the church by the wildwood                                                                                           Oh, come to the church in the vale

No spot is so dear to my childhood                                                                                                        As the little brown church in the vale.”

It was a little brown church in Middle Valley near some wild woods just south of Soddy-Daisy, Tennessee.  I found it by accident on purpose.

It was one of those things I had to do.  I had to find the right church, the one where God wanted me to be.  The advice I received was to find one with services on Sunday mornings, Sunday nights and Wednesday nights.  

I called a local ministry to ask about churches in my area, and they informed me that they could not give recommendations.  

“But,” the woman told me, “Bethel Temple is out your way, but I cannot say that.  And Bethel Temple meets your requirements, but I am not allowed to give out that information.  And I think Bethel Temple is the kind of church you are looking for, but you didn’t hear that from me.”

So I decided to visit Bethel Temple.  It was Wednesday night, and I was wearing my tattered jeans, an old shirt that was stained and tennis shoes that were dirty and frayed.    Nobody was in the sanctuary, so I took a seat.  Actually, I took two or three different seats, trying to find one that was the least conspicuous.  Soon people began to drift upstairs from the Fellowship Hall where they had been finishing supper.  They nodded and smiled.  I nodded and smiled.

I enjoyed the singing and was settling down to get ready for the sermon when people started standing up one by one and relating experiences — “sharing a testimony” was the church expression.  I was fascinated by their candor and the matter-of-fact way they talked about Jesus, as if He were their next-door neighbor.   They discussed very personal matters in this very public forum with people who were very accepting and very encouraging.

I sat there wondering, “Lord, am I doing the right thing?  Have you changed your mind?  Should I even be here?  I’m really not dressed for church.”

Just then a young man stood and said, “For I am the LORD, I change not.”

That answered those questions.  I stayed put … until after the sermon.  That’s when the pastor asked people who had needs to come forward.  I rose and walked forward. 

“What is your need?” the pastor asked.

“I need direction,” I answered hesitantly.

I had never done anything like this before.  The church was different from any I had ever attended.  I was unsure of how to act or what to say, but I knew I needed some answers from God.  I was a single mother with three children, a small income and overwhelming questions.  I had received salvation the year before, but not much teaching.  I knew there was more, and I wanted it.

As soon as I uttered my request, several people surrounded me, took my hands and began praying for me.  Their prayers were simple, but earnest; loud, but tender; accessible to all, but very private.  They prayed as if this prayer were their own.  The words they used were ordinary, not filled with stilted phrases or “thees” and “thous.”  They talked to Jesus as if He were right there among us.

Tears filled my eyes and spilled down my cheeks.  Somebody was praying, and God was listening.  Relief flooded over me.  I felt lighter, stronger, braver.  Going to the altar was “da bomb!”

Years later when my daughter was in junior high, she tried out for basketball, but didn’t make the team.  She tried out for volleyball, but didn’t make the team.  “Mom, I’ve decided to try out for going to the altar.  I’m good at that.  I know I’ll make that team!” she said confidently.

I wanted my children to be a part of this loving congregation, so I brought them with me the following week.  They really liked it.  My daughter was about seven and couldn’t see the words to the songs that were displayed on the screen, so she took off her shoes and stood on the pew.  My older son, who was not saved yet, commented on his first Sunday, “Now this is what church is supposed to be like!”

There was music and clapping, singing and rejoicing — just like in Psalms.  There was preaching, reading of scripture, testimonies and lots of time for prayer at the altar.  

God gave me a summer skirt and a winter skirt to wear and even a new pair of jeans.  But one of our favorites sayings was, “They don’t care what you wear, they just care if you’re there!”

“Praise ye the LORD. Praise God in his sanctuary: praise him in the firmament of his power.”  — Psalm 150:1

‘And let us consider how we may spur one another on toward love and good deeds. Let us not give up meeting together, as some are in the habit of doing, but let us encourage one another—and all the more as you see the Day approaching.”     — Hebrews 10:24-25

Tuesday Nights

Prayer on Tuesday nights was a new concept for me.  I thought that was covered on Sunday mornings.  The preacher prayed; the congregation prayed the Lord’s Prayer; the preacher prayed over the offering; we went to the altar to receive prayer for special needs; the preacher dismissed in prayer.

Why did we have to meet at the church on Tuesday night for prayer?

Wednesday night was Prayer Meeting.  Of course, Wednesday was not just for prayer.  There was praise and worship and Bible teaching before the altar service and prayer time for the adults.  The children and youth had their own Wednesday services going on in other parts of the church, and that involved prayer, too.

So why did we have to meet at the church on Tuesday night for prayer?

I found out why.

It was just prayer.  We spent a few minutes listing prayer requests on the overhead, and then we prayed.  We prayed silently.  We prayed out loud.  We prayed VERY out loud.  We prayed in English.  We prayed in the Spirit.  We sang our prayers — in many languages.

We sat and prayed.  We knelt to pray.  We stood up to pray.  We walked around and prayed.  We looked out the window and prayed.

We prayed for others.  We prayed with others.  We prayed for ourselves.  We prayed alone.  We prayed about so many different things.  We prayed the scriptures back to God.  We prayed, and tears rushed down our cheeks.  It was concentrated, corporate prayer.

We didn’t just talk about it.   We did it!  And we received answers.

My friend Pat liked to drive her daughter’s foreign sports car on Tuesday nights.  She would stop by my house and toot the horn.  When asked where we were headed, “To pray, of course.”  True prayer is still linked in my mind with riding through town in a hot car with the top down.  It just screams, “Hallelujah!” and “Thank You, Jesus!”

There is a raw, unadulterated liberty about prayer.  You are transported to heavenly realms with a deep-down “knowing” that you are indeed in the presence of the Holy One of Israel.  You have His ear, and He has yours.

My daughter was entranced by Tuesday night prayer.  It was a place she had never been.  She knew that when I returned from prayer, I was a much better mom.  She wanted to know more.  

When she was about 10 years old, she could stand it no longer.  “May I go with you tonight?”

“Of course you can, but do realize it will be just the grown-ups, don’t you?  You can’t run around or go out to the playground.  You have to behave and just pray.”

“Yes.  That’s what I want do to.”

“OK then.”

Well, she loved it.  She got down on her knees and began to pray.  She prayed for a whole hour.  She spoke to God; he spoke to her.  She was hooked!  She’s still hooked!

Then there was the night that Lourdes came to prayer on Tuesday night.  Lourdes had just moved to Tennessee from Puerto Rico.  She was tall slim and constantly moving.  She loved to talk, and she loved to keep busy.

As she entered the Sanctuary, she heard someone praying.  It wasn’t in English; it was in Spanish — in a dialect Lourdes understood only too well.  The woman who was praying was born and raised in Soddy-Daisy, Tennessee.  She spoke only Tennessee English in a very country accent.  But that night she was praying in the Spirit, in a tongue unknown to her.

Lourdes told us later.  “The woman was speaking a dialect from my town.  She spoke it perfectly.  It got my attention.  I became very still and listened.  The words she said were full of praises to God.  I knelt and wept.”

And pray in the Spirit on all occasions with all kinds of prayers and requests. With this in mind, be alert and always keep on praying for all the Lord’s people. — Ephesians 6:18 (NIV)