Living Between the Lines

Today is our regularly scheduled One Word at a Time Blog Carnival, hostessed by my wonderful, fabulous friend, Bridget Chumbley. To read the other posts in the carnival, please visit her site by clicking HERE.

Today’s topic is “patience” and I have to be honest, that’s not something that I have a whole lot of. I’ve always been a high-strung, excitable type of person. I once joked that sometimes I run so far ahead of God that He has to grab my ponytail and jerk me back in line.

But maybe my excitement isn’t a totally bad thing.

When I asked God what to write about patience today, He said, “sometimes, what we call patience is just complacency.”

Now, I am in no way advocating distrusting God (which is often the root of impatience—at least in my own life) or acting outside His will. But at the same time, how often have I known I was supposed to do something (witness to someone, pray for someone, take on a new role in ministry) but I’ve shrugged off that knowledge, telling myself that I need to pray about it just a little longer or train for it just a little harder or wait to be asked or wait for a sign.

Okay, maybe I’m just talking to myself here…

But in case I’m not, let me encourage you to do the same thing God has encouraged me to do:

1.       Seek Him constantly.

2.      Obey Him immediately.

3.       Trust Him completely.

And since today’s topic is patience, let me ask you for ONE MORE DAY of patience. TOMORROW (Wednesday) is the drawing for the Mad Church Disease giveaway. In case you missed this the first time around, you can read about the giveaway HERE. I will stop taking entries at 9 PM EST on Tuesday night and will publish the names of the winners of my three copies at midnight Wednesday morning. If you have any questions, you can leave a comment here or email me at smsalter@yahoo.com.

This afternoon, our bishop’s wife slipped into my office while I was in a budget meeting and left a handful of pages on my desk. The pages were from a testimony that was read at a funeral that she had gone to yesterday. The testimony had blessed her and she thought it would bless me. She was right. And because it blessed me, I want to share it with you.

I never met Sister Eva Brown. I can’t ask her permission to share her story with you, but somehow, I don’t think she would mind. So, here’s her story, in her own words:

Thank the Lord for that wonderful day—October 12, 1933—about 11 on a Thursday morning. I was babysitting my almost one-year-old sister, Lynn, and preparing the noonday meal for my mother, father, and some of the other children while they were in the field picking cotton. On the night before, I had been in service just across the highway from my home in a tent meeting. The Lord dealt with my heart in that service. I did not respond to Him after the invitation and I went home after that service and was miserable.

As the day progressed, I became more and more convicted of my sins, and that I needed a savior. Mind you, I did not come out of a Christian home and I had a precious family, but no one professed a living experience with Jesus Christ. I felt a little insecure in taking the step to be the first in my family to profess a real experience with Jesus, but I could not resist the conviction I felt in my heart. I don’t think people today have convictions like I felt that day. I felt that if I did not get right with God, that I would die and be lost in eternity’s dark night.

There was no one home except Lynn and myself. I said, “Lord, I can’t live like this. I have to have help.”

Immediately I remembered Rev. James Epps was staying across the street and he came to the mailbox most mornings right in front of our house. I said, “Lord, if this is really You dealing with me, and I’m supposed to get right with You, will You please send that preacher to the mail box today, and if You do, I’ll ask him to pray with me.” I walked to the front door and saw Rev. Epps coming to the mailbox.

I was weeping when I called out to him. I had never met him except to shake his hand. But I said, “Would you come pray with me?”

I can see him now as he got a light step and came across the highway. I told him I had to have the Lord. We prayed together, asked Jesus into my life. Bless His name, I was delivered from my sins and my heart was filled with joy. From that morning until this, I have lived for Him to the best of my ability.

After the noon meal, I felt I had to find a place to pray and remembered the old wagon path just back of the house and a stump I had seen so many times there. I got the baby to sleep and I went out to that old stump just a few steps from our back door. I knelt by the stump. The Lord met me there that afternoon. I dedicated that place as my altar. Many times I went there to pray.

Sometime later, I began to feel that God had a work—a ministry—for me to do. So one night after I went to bed, I could not sleep. God was dealing with me, so I said, “Lord, I have to have an answer. I’ve got to know Your will for my life.” I know that to you who have no spiritual discernment, this would seem foolish, but the Holy Spirit seemed to say: “I’ll give you the answer if you’ll go to the stump.”

“But Lord, it’s night time and I’m just a young girl to go into the edge of the woods and kneel at a stump to pray tonight.”

But I couldn’t shake it, so as quietly as I could, I slipped my feet into my shoes and went out the front door and around the house. I knew if I was heard, I would be stopped. It was a beautiful autumn October night. A little hazy, but the moon was out. I had no problem seeing my way, but when I got almost to the stump, something said to me, “Take off your shoes.”

I took off my shoes and walked to the stump and immediately, the enemy tried to take advantage of the occasion and said to me, “Aren’t you afraid?” There were dogs roaming the woods and I could hear them in the distance. And you don’t know who else might be out this time of night.

“Lord,” I said, “I feel that You directed me to do this, and I don’t want to leave until You give me an answer.”

I don’t know that it would mean anything to any of you, but until I go home to Glory, it will be precious to me. I looked around me and saw a circle of light about the size of this building, like a beautiful rainbow of many colors. And it was real. It was so real, all around me. And it seemed to me the Lord said, “Nothing shall come inside this circle to harm you.” And nothing did. But the Lord met me that night in a special way. For me, the question was settled that was so heavy on my heart.

I was just a simple 19-year-old country girl with a 6^th grade education and everything seemingly against it, but I knew I had to preach the Gospel. It wasn’t long after that I applied for a mission workers license and a local preacher’s license and was granted both of them.

I remember going before the examining committee and after many questions, they asked me, “If we don’t give you license to preach, what will you do?”

I said, “I feel like I’ll have to preach.”

One of the ministers said, “I wish we had a thousand like that.”

God has been good to me, brought me this far, supplied all my needs, and gave me a wonderful husband that has supported me all the way. And you know what? If I had to do it again, I’d do it again and hope to do a better job.

Let me leave you with one verse of scripture, Psalm 68:13: “Though you have lain among the pots, yet shall ye be as the wings of a dove, covered with silver, and her feathers with yellow gold.”

It has been said that David reflected back to the time when Israel was in Egypt and they were feeding out of the fleshpots. They would drop crumbs among the ashes and then late in the day, the doves would swoop down and work their way in and out among the fleshpots and pick up some scraps of food. Then, they would spread their wings and fly away toward the sunset. And as the sunset glittered on their wings, they were beautiful. They were not spotted or smutty from going in and out among the fleshpots. Many times through the years, I preached from this scripture, remembering like the doves, we can live in a dirty world and keep clean.

God bless you is my prayer. Come go home with me.

Eva

The front cover of the book was interesting, but it was the back cover that really got my attention. Actually, it was just the first sentence of the back cover.

Does working at this church interfere with your communion with Christ?

I love my ministry job. I do. I have a great job. I get to use my ministry gifts working with all age groups from nursery through senior citizens. I get to plan events and maintain programs. I get to pray with folks and counsel them and speak into their lives in a multitude of ways.

But…

When you add the forty to eighty hours a week of ministry work to the responsibility of being a responsible church member in an active church (around 1500 active attenders at two campuses with a total of 5 services), I was spending almost my entire life in ministry.

And…

Because balance has never been my strong point, about a year ago at this time, I was about (this) close to a complete and total breakdown.

How did I handle it? I quit just about everything but my job. And then several weeks ago, someone who didn’t even know my situation gifted me with a copy of Anne Jackson’s book, Mad Church Disease.

Before I was halfway through the book, I had bought ten copies to give away and talked my boss into buying ten copies for our ten board members. (It’s just that good!) I personally (obviously) think it should be required reading for everybody who works in ministry—from the occasional volunteer all the way up the ladder to the megachurch pastor. Seriously!

So far, I’ve given away copies to 3 senior pastors, 1 youth pastor, 1 children’s ministry director, 1 missions worker, & 1 church administrator. If you did the math, that gives me 3 more to give away and I decided I wanted to give them away to you guys!

And then, I talked to my Okie-Laskan pastor/blogger/musician friend Jason and we hatched this crazy idea of doing a book club with it. So, we’re BOTH giving away copies on our blogs and then 2 weeks from today, we’re going to start doing a chapter-by-chapter discussion of it on our blogs!

Here’s how you can get involved:

1.       Win a copy on my blog. From now until next Tuesday night, you can get entries in the following ways: 1 entry per original comment on this post, 1 entry per tweet or retweet of this post, 3 entries for each time you mention this giveaway on facebook or your own website (but make sure you come back and tell me so you can get your credit!).

2.      Win a copy on Jason’s blog. He’s doing his giveaway in just the same way. You can link to it HERE to double your chances.

If you don’t win one of the five copies that Jason and I are giving away, you can always pick up this lovely book at Amazon, Barnes & Noble, or just about any book retailer. Then, meet us back here TWO WEEKS FROM TODAY to begin the discussion.

Ready? Set? GO!

When I was a little kid, there was a phone company slogan that was very popular: “Reach out and touch someone!” I loved that slogan then and still love it now. One of my biggest pet peeves is how so much of life has lost the personal touch. You go to the bank and do business with a machine, using a little plastic card. You call the electric company and do business by punching numbers into a computerized phone system. And even at the grocery store, many places have begun installing little kiosks where you scan your own groceries, pay with plastic, and bag your own—all without ever having to interact with another living, breathing human being.

Well, this weekend, I have been touched. On Sunday, I turned 32. And over the weekend, I received more than 100 emails, Facebook messages, and tweets from all of you telling me Happy Birthday. I have to say that I felt really, really loved—and yes, touched. THANK YOU ALL!

But I didn’t start this post to talk about me…

Several days ago, I saw a most intriguing tweet from my favorite Okie-Laskan (that’s an Oklahoman that’s transplanted to Alaska) pastor friend, Jason S. You might not know this, but Jason has a hidden talent—he is a phenomenal musician! Over the past several years, he’s released several CDs of worship music. I have one of them and it’s GREAT! I keep it in my disc player! But I’m digressing…

When the horrific earthquake happened in Haiti, Jason began looking for an opportunity to help with the relief efforts. Like most of us, he’s on a budget and doesn’t have a lot of extra cash to spare. But then, something happened. I’ll let him share it:

“I got an email from CD Baby, the distributor of mine and many independent artist’s music.  They have decided to make a donation for every purchase on their website.  Here’s what they said:

Starting on Monday, January 25th and continuing for two weeks, we will donate $1 of our cut from every CD sale through our website, and $1 from every download sale over $8.99 on our site, to the American Red Cross and to Mercy Corps, a Portland-based relief organization with a large presence in Haiti. With your help, we hope to raise tens of thousands of dollars.

I was convicted because I know as God’s people we are meant to make an impact, and even though throughout the world, I know we are, it has to be personal.  I remembered Proverbs 21:13, “If a man shuts his ears to the cry of the poor, he too will cry out and not be answered.”

I’m opening my ears and allowing God to open my heart. Since CD Baby is giving a dollar for every purchase made in the next two weeks, I’m going to give $5 for every album purchase (digital download or CD).  I’ll turn around and give this to World Vision.

You can support the efforts in Haiti and get, what I feel is some great worship music in the process.  Maybe it’s not your style, no problem! But maybe you know someone who might like it. If you already have this music, you can purchase it for a friend or whatever you like.

I hope you’ll help me in this and that we’ll have a great testimony of what God has done.  Let’s participate in the life of Jesus and bring some peace. After all, that’s exactly what He did—our trouble met His gift of peace.”

I don’t think I can say it any better than Jason did, so now I’m just going to share the link. Go HERE to support this project.

Since we’re talking about reaching out and touching someone, I want to give you one more opportunity here today. On July 11-25, I will be joining a team of ten with Rose Boyd and Operation Teaching Tools to go to Kenya and Sudan on a mission trip. I know that I’ve mentioned this here a number of times, but I haven’t shared HOW you can help.

Really, there are TWO ways you can help.

1.       I need prayer partners. And by this, I mean serious intercessors who will commit to pray regularly for me, my team, and the folks we will be ministering to. I will send you regularly updated, specific prayer requests. And I will ask you to commit to pray EACH DAY while we are gone out of country. If you wish to be a prayer partner, please email me at smsalter78@yahoo.com with your name and email address so that I can add you to the list and send you your updates.

2.       I need financial supporters. I am responsible for raising my $4,050 of support. This purchases my plane ticket and pays for my expenses while in the mission field. I know that our Great Big God will provide the support, but I also know that He might wish to use some of you to do it! Please prayerfully search your hearts to see if God would have you to help in this way. If you wish to be a financial supporter, please make your checks out to Operation Teaching Tools (they are a 501-c-3 non-profit organization and so your gift will be tax deductible) and mail them to:

Sarah Salter

PO Box 54

Falcon, NC 28342

If you pray and feel that God is leading you to assist in another way, please feel free to contact me by email or postal mail at the addresses above. God works in MANY ways, not just these two!

Thank you all for letting me share my heart today! I’d like to open this up to everybody to share. If you have a cause you would like to share with us, please feel free to share it in the comments along with websites, email addresses and any other helpful information!

Thank you ALL for being willing to reach out and touch someone!

It was more than 100 degrees in the room we were in. A room smaller than my living room. With no furniture save four or five cheap plastic chairs for our patients to sit in. The five of us were practically standing on top of each other. And with no electricity, no lights, and no air-conditioning, we were almost desperate to keep the mob from pressing too tightly against the two small windows that allowed a bit of light and an almost non-existent breeze to wisp through on occasion.

When we had arrived a couple of hours earlier, it had been blatantly obvious that we were going to be dealing with a loud, demanding, desperate, and vocal crowd that day. It was really no surprise when we saw armed soldiers in navy blue uniforms and black berets begin to move through the crowd, grumpily trying to keep the peace, but really creating more discontent than they were alleviating. But as Americans in the midst of a war-torn Sub-Saharan African country, we had no right to ask the soldiers to leave. We did our best to ignore them and continue our work while they continued to stir up our patients.

I tried to focus solely on my patients—there were so many of them and the need was so great. As hot as it was and as much as I was sweating, I hesitated to stop and take a drink of the hot water in the plastic bottle that I kept hidden (so my patients wouldn’t steal it) because I knew that a break for me would be one less patient that could be helped. So I ignored the heat and the thirst, calling patient after patient. Virtie and Sandra, my two partners, worked at least as feverishly as I did. But as we glanced out the window we saw the line growing instead of shrinking. And as loud as the patients had been all morning, they were now speaking at a deafening volume. It was all we could do to hear our patients answer us as we asked questions.

I guess it was because of the noise that I never heard the gunshots, but Tommy—the American police officer traveling with us—must have heard them. I watched him jump a chair and leap over a five foot wall to get to the commotion. When I saw Tommy start running, I glanced out the window and watched the crowd surging.

We didn’t know until later what had really happened. There had been an attempted coup of the government, downtown at the Parliament building. When that happened, a riot had broken out there. As word began to spread, the people just became hysterical. Their lives were so empty and broken already—these people who eat an average of three times a week and who subsist on dirty sugar water—most of whom had never seen a doctor and knew that once we left, they probably never would. The people were pushing at the gates and crying out, until in a misguided attempt to calm the crowd, one of the blue-uniformed guards had begun firing shots in the air.

That was all it took for the crowd to riot. They became a human battering ram, bursting through the high, metal gate and nearly taking down a cement block wall. Tommy jumped the chair, hurdled the wall, and with the help of some of the local pastors and translators, Tommy was able to get the gate secured, and the bus loaded. Instead of finishing out the day’s clinic, we slipped onto the bus to leave. We were warned that the mob would probably try to turn the bus over as we left, but when we opened the gate to leave, the mob had suddenly disappeared. There were only a handful of people left standing there and they were calmly waving to us as we left.

Later, as the team sat back at the guest house comparing notes, I began to completely realize the lessons of that day. First of all, almost none of our team members felt any fear at all. In the midst of that very dangerous situation, only one girl—Jenny—had panicked. Sensing Jenny’s panic, the pharmacist sitting next to her leaned over and whispered, “Don’t you see them, Jenny?” Jenny looked at the pharmacist in utter confusion. “Don’t you see then, Jenny? They are nine feet tall and all around us!”The sweet Kentucky pharmacist was seeing angels standing around the walls.

Secondly, when the crowd rioted and everyone—medical team and patients alike—had rushed to the windows to see what was going on, I looked back inside and noticed a little old lady that was sitting inside, seemingly oblivious to what was going on. She was merely sitting in a cheap, flimsy, plastic chair, wearing her new reading glasses and reading her little pocket Bible.

Today as I was driving the winding country roads of North Carolina on my way home from work, I started listening to the Lord about “peace.” And the picture I saw in my mind was that dangerous Congolese clinic in January of 2005. I saw the face of the pharmacist who had seen angels in the midst of a riot. And I saw the bowed head of the grandmother who sought God in spite of the clamor.

And then, I heard the still small voice of God speaking, “Peace isn’t about what’s going on around you. It’s about what’s going on in you.”

That’s the truth—and the truth sets us free.

This is part of The One Word Blog Carnival at my friend Bridget Chumbley’s place. To read the rest of the entries, go to her website!

I’ve never seen the movie, Nights in Rodanthe, but because I’m from Eastern North Carolina, I have followed the news stories about Serendipity—the coastal NC house (seen above) that was the setting for the movie. Ever since the movie was released, the local news stations have sent reporters out there practically every time it rains, to see if this time is going to be the time that Serendipity finally succumbs to the pull of the ocean and the torture of the storm. Finally, this week, the owner of the home brought in a crew and moved the house out of harm’s way—to more stable ground.

Serendipity reminds me of something…

ME.

Only the difference between me and this house is that I actually choose to stay on the sand, in the path of the storm.

Jesus said, “Therefore everyone who hears these words of mine and puts them into practice is like a wise man who built his house on the rock. The rain came down, the streams rose, and the winds blew and beat against that house; yet it did not fall, because it had its foundation on the rock. But everyone who hears these words of mine and does not put them into practice is like a foolish man who built his house on sand. The rain came down, the streams rose, and the winds blew and beat against that house, and it fell with a great crash.” – Jesus in Matthew 7:24-27

Okay, I’m not going to beat up on myself here… But I’ll be honest. (I can do that here, right?)

When I asked Jesus to be my Savior and Lord, He started taking my spiritual house down and rebuilding it on The Rock (Himself), one chunk at a time. Now, there are some rooms I don’t mind Him plundering in. But there are other rooms, that I really don’t want Him to touch. But the problem is that if I don’t let Him into every room, then eventually a storm is going to come that I won’t be able to withstand.

Can you imagine? The Holy Spirit comes into my house—all dressed up in His hard hat and steel-toed boots—and heads straight for the closet. But I leap in front of the door.

“NO! Don’t go in there! Start somewhere else! How about starting in the kitchen? NO! Wait! I didn’t mean it! How about the bedroom? STOP! No! Not there either. What about the den? WAIT! Hold on! No!”

And so the Holy Spirit sticks His hands in His jeans pockets and waits for me to open the doors for Him. But even then, I try to negotiate.

“Okay, You can go into the den, but just leave the TV. And You can go into the office, just don’t mess with my computer or my books.”

And being a gentleman, the Holy Spirit doesn’t force me to let Him make changes—even though it grieves Him.

At night, when I turn out the lights, I lie in bed and listen to the wind blowing against the walls, the waves lapping at the floors. I feel the house leaning further and further and sinking deeper and deeper.

Until I finally wake up and realize that there’s something much bigger at stake.

Recently, while reading Genesis 22 for like the hundredth time, I was stumped by a question that had never occurred to me before: If God knows the heart of man (and He does) then why would He need to test Abraham by asking him to sacrifice Isaac? Certainly not to prove what God already knows about Abraham (the purity of his heart and motives)!

Slowly an answer began to seep into my mind. God didn’t need for Abraham to prove himself to Him. God wanted Abraham to prove himself to himself (Abraham), his son, and to us. God never does anything for the good of one person, but rather for the good of all His children.

So, if I’m part of the reason Abraham did this, then what does this really mean to me? What does this prove to me?

Abraham was willing to sacrifice his idol (Isaac) so that God could bring about His promise to Abraham.

Am I willing to sacrifice my idols (all those closed doors in my falling-down house) so that God can bring about His promises to me and to the world through me?

Today, that answer is yes. And my prayer is that every day, that answer will be yes.

How about you?

If you’ve been hanging around my blog much in the past week or two, you have probably heard the rumor that I’ll be going on my eighth mission trip in July. I will be joining missionary Rose Boyd (from Operation Teaching Tools) and a team of ten to minister in Sudan. You can read more about this trip here at my friend, Kathy’s site.

It’s probably no surprise that in order to go on this trip, I have to raise my own support, in the amount of $4,050. When my friend, Wendy, learned this she made me an astoundingly generous offer that I’d like to share with you.

Today is the GRAND OPENING of Wendy’s Etsy shop, Wendy Darling, Ltd.

Wendy has made the following offer: If you go to her Etsy shop, place an order, and put my name (”Sarah”) in the comments to the seller, she will send a percentage of that purchase as a donation toward the trip to Sudan.

Don’t I have the most awesome friends?!

So, I encourage you to go check out Wendy’s Etsy shop… And not just because of the trip to Sudan. But because she’s awesome and has a cute shop with cute stuff that you’re just gonna love! Here’s one example:

(The shirt’s for sale. The child is not.)

THANK YOU, Wendy! And thank y’all for your support!

Although college was one of the most interesting and influential times in my life, it certainly wasn’t the easiest time in my life. It wasn’t that I was a party girl. I had worked for four years before going to college, so by the time I got there, I was serious about getting my education. And it wasn’t that I had trouble with my classes, though I did have to work hard.

The hard part about college was living out my relationship with Christ.

Basically, when you live with a large group of people (oh, say 120 of them) twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, you can’t fake Christianity for very long. I mean, really, how many times can a normal person forgive their roommate for stealing all their cereal before they snap?

It wasn’t that I wanted to be a hypocrite. It was that I was an immature Christian. Carnal. Selfish.

Because God is good—and WAY smarter than me—He put me in the perfect church. It was a small home church, most Sundays attended by only me, the couple who pastored, and a handful of guys who for whatever reasons were uncomfortable attending a more traditional church. I had attended small churches before, but I had never been in one quite this small and personal. And by small and personal, I mean that I got a lot of one-on-one ministry that wouldn’t have been available to me in a large church setting. In other words, I couldn’t hide there either.

For three and a half years, I was in a God-powered spotlight pretty much 24 hours a day.

My evangelist friend Ken Helser says that “home is where we have to live out what we like to talk about.” And that perfectly describes the situation I was in. I had church leadership constantly challenging me to mature so that I could minister to the people I was living with at college and I had a dorm full of people at college—roommates, suitemates, friends, and student workers—who judged God by how they saw me living. Pressure!

My relief came from something God taught me.

When I walk with Jesus, He shares His umbrella.

I’m sure I’m not the only one that feels like their life is constantly full of storms. In college, those storms were often in the form of juggling school work, a work-study job, and a job off-campus. But I also faced one of the most dysfunctional relationships (and break-ups) I’ve ever been through. And having a roommate take a bunch of cocaine, come home and threaten to kill me, and then overdose and almost die.

I don’t always get to choose the storms, but I can choose whether or not I stay under the umbrella.

One of the charming things about my church is that we have the most loving hospitality team I’ve ever seen. Parking lot attendants, greeters, ushers—they all go out of their way to make sure that everyone feels welcome. One of my sweetest memories of being a new attender there is the first rainy Sunday that I attended. As soon as I opened my car door, one of the ushers was waiting there with an umbrella to walk me into the building. I mean, Wow—is that service or what?!

That’s Jesus. He stands in the rain with a big umbrella, waiting for us to fall into step next to Him.

Another thing this analogy helped me to understand is that salvation does not necessarily equal deliverance. How many of us prayed to accept Christ and thought that it would somehow magically make temptation less tempting? Or that it would immediately remove our cravings for whatever it is that we’re addicted to? I think I can safely say that most of us didn’t become perfect overnight. We just gradually trust God more and more. And as we trust Him, we learn to love Him. And as we learn to love Him, we learn to obey Him. And in the process, he refines those temptations and addictions and cravings out of us.

The umbrella analogy works with this scenario, too. How many of us come in out of the rain and are immediately dry? None of us. Drying out takes time. The more time we spend under the umbrella with Jesus, the more we dry out.

But what about those of us who can’t seem to stay under the umbrella?

James 1:8 says that a double-minded man is unstable in all his ways. And in my case, that’s definitely the truth. I like being under the umbrella with Jesus—safe and dry. But sometimes, something shiny will catch my eye and I’ll dart out into the rain to see if it’s worth getting wet. It never is. But because of my human-ness, I just can’t help myself.

In Romans 7, Paul talks about this. He says that he wants to do what’s good (stay under the umbrella) but that he just can’t make himself do it. And he doesn’t want to do what’s bad (going out in the storm) but that he just can’t help but do it. But then he gives the remedy: Jesus Christ will deliver him from this pattern of sin and death.

That tells me that the more time I spend with Jesus, the more time I will want to spend with Him and eventually, the pattern will be broken and I will stay under the umbrella with Him!

In keeping with the adventurous spirit here at Living Between the Lines, I’m on the road again on this Wednesday morning. But today, I don’t just have one destination, but TWO.

You can find me visiting my friend Ginny at Make a Difference to One, where I’ll be talking about Love (which is ever so appropriate for the day after we’ve had a Blog Carnival on Lust. If you missed that Carnival, it’s not too late to join in the fun at my friend Bridget Chumbley’s site.)

I’m also visiting my friend, Katdish again today. On July 11-25, 2010, I will be joining a mission team to minister to refugees in Sudan. For more information (and to see how you can help) come with me as I visit Katdish at Hey, Look! A Chicken!

So, what are you waitin’ for? C’mon!

Today is our regularly scheduled “One Word” Blog Carnival and our scheduled topic is “Lust.” You can view a listing (with links) of all of the carnival entries on Bridget Chumbley’s website.

A few months ago, when that topic was first proposed by someone (I can’t remember who) on Twitter, I don’t recall feeling hesitant about writing a post about it. But last week, when Bridget and some of the others started sending reminders about it, I skipped hesitant and went to full-blown panic.

It’s funny, isn’t it? I’m the one that usually doesn’t mind opening the closet and letting the world see my skeletons. But when the subject of lust came up, I immediately started barring the door to my closet. I spent this whole week worrying about it and had finally decided that I wasn’t going to post on this topic at all.

Then, I remembered Solange.

Warning: You’re going to think I’m going off topic here, but stay with me and I’ll come back to it.

Sunday morning when our church service ended, I didn’t rush to my car. I knew that the parking lot was full and that I was parked in the back. I figured that instead of tempting myself to road rage so quickly after the great worship service, I would just slowly make my way out of the sanctuary, chatting and hugging other stragglers. Then, by the time I got to my car, the parking lot would be pretty much empty.

I shook hands with the couple I’d sat next to and then hugged the lady in charge of the ushers and greeters and I spoke to several people as I made my way to the back door. And then, I found myself facing a tall, angular lady that I don’t remember ever having seen before. That’s no surprise since I go to a large church with multiple venues (two) and multiple services (five).

For a second, I thought she was just accidentally bumping into me, but when she faced me, her pleasant expression was full of purpose.

“You held up a cardboard sign, yes?”

My eyes followed her hand signal toward the stage as my mind tried to decipher the light accent. German? French? I couldn’t quite decide because she spoke so quietly. But I was able to make sense of her words.

“Oh, you mean the cardboard testimonies the drama team did last February. Yes, I held up a cardboard sign with my testimony on it.”

“It said ‘Suicidal.’ But every time I see you, you have such a big smile. Every Sunday, I look for you to see if you have your smile. You always do. It’s a very beautiful smile.”

I was shocked by her words! It’s been almost a year since our drama team performed our cardboard testimonies. (Click here if you wish to view our drama team’s Cardboard Testimonies performance.) I had been so scared to stand up there and be so shockingly honest, holding the word “Suicidal” in big, black letters across my chest. But when I had flipped my cardboard over and showed the words, “I met the Life Giver” the crowd had roared and I had known that the risk was worth it. But that day—almost a year ago—as I put my cardboard testimony in the trunk of my car, I had thought that it was all over. But not for this lady.

I asked her name, told her my own, and gave her a hug and a smile. And I offered her one scripture as we parted: “We overcome the devil by the Blood of the Lamb and the Word of our testimony.”

And so this week, as I have considered how to avoid writing about lust, I’m faced with the truth that I overcome the devil by the Blood of the Lamb and the Word of my testimony. And also with the truth that maybe—just maybe—something I say is going to be the key that unlocks the door to someone else’s closet, too.

A lot of people would think that because I’m a never-married single Christian lady, that I don’t know anything about lust. The truth is that in my life, I’ve both lusted after others and been the object of the lust of others. (Gosh, that sounds really bad when I write it! But, it’s the sad truth.) And while the abuse I went through at the hands of a neighbor contributed to my ability to sin in this area, the truth is that I was born into sin anyway and have committed many of my own sins—not counting the ones enacted upon me.

So, now that the skeleton is out of the closet, let me just say that the most important message I can share today is a two-fold message. First, if you have been sinned against, there is healing. Second, if you have sinned, there is forgiveness.

Make no mistake about it, lust is a sin. But because of the shed blood of Jesus, it does not carry a death sentence.

If you are in bondage to sin of any kind—including lust—seek help. Confess to God and also find a pastor or counselor that can help you. James 5:16 says to confess our faults to one another and pray for one another that we may be healed! Let’s open up the closets of our lives to let the light shine in, so that we can be healed. Don’t hide the skeletons—let them come out into the light and dance!