Another day at school. Then more school. Except the second school is really work. Frank Church High. Day 6 billion and two. It's gonna be amazing.
The broom in my hand feels smooth yet powerful. I sweep the halls to their hearts content. I need to go for a walk. It's great working the night shift because you can just take off and there's no boss there to tell you to get back to work!
So I walk outside. I turn to the right, facing the breeze coming in. I take a deep breath and strut in that direction, taking one step at a time. I thought I saw someone out of the corner of my eye, and by the time I turned, there he was: a boy with a crutch.
I haven't really done this in a while, I thought. My blog entries show it. But I'm gonna do it this time. Why? Because I'm here, with the ability to supernaturally heal people, and there's a boy that needs it.
I walk up to him. "Hey, man, what happened to your foot there?" It was in a brace.
"Oh, I just broke it. Remember, I told you about it before, when I was in a wheelchair?" Oh yeah. I remember now. He sat and talked with me about his motorcycle accident, and all I could think about was that I wanted to pray for him. I was scared then too.
"Hey, so this might seem kinda weird, but I prayed for a lady at my church that had dislocated her thumb and it got completely healed right on the spot!" That's true, actually. Another story, another time.
"No way?"
"Yeah for real. Can I pray for you, too?"
"Yeah, man, go for it. I'm not really a religious person though, I grew up Baptist but when my dad moved out we stopped going to church."
I looked at his face. This boy had to be 16 or 17, freckles on his face, black hair. I felt a nudge in my spirit. "So...was he not a good guy to you?"
A short pause. "Yeah, he wasn't really. He always made us go to church but I hated his guts."
I smiled. "Yeah. Well that's ok because God doesn't really care if you go to church. He just loves you and wants to be with you and show you His love."
I started praying for him. He said the pain level was at a 6. I pray with my eyes open because I want to see if they start crying. Crying means it's working.
He wasn't crying, but I could sense a peace rest on him. "What's the pain at now?"
"About a four."
"Hallelujah, you're being healed!" And without a moment's notice, I step through the awkward zone again and say, "Let me pray again!"
I do. I'm sensing about a 2. I ask him. He says the pain is completely gone!
I talked to him the next day and he said the doctor took a look at it, and said that it healed up faster than he expected. The foot wasn't broken anymore! Praise Jesus!
The better news he said, though, was that he went home that night, and "I dunno, something happened. I'm not mad at God anymore. I just really like Him now!"
"Wow, that's amazing! And He sure likes you, that's for sure."
Moral of the story: slack off at work and start revivals in people's heart. Giggity giggity alright.
Thursday, May 6, 2010
Sunday, March 21, 2010
God is Real
I got out of the car, iPod in hand, Bible open. It was time for worship. I strolled into the church, looking around at the different people standing outside and inside the lobby. My thoughts weren't even on what was going on - my eyes were glazed over with passion.
Earlier that day I had sat in on a guy speaking. His name was Shawn Bolz. And he brought it. That afternoon he taught all of us oldschool Pentecostals how to hear God accurately, and speak those words over people.
"You gotta realize that God speaks in parables," the 6-foot-something, 35-year-old single pastor from Hollywood spoke over the microphone, "and we're not supposed to just give that parable, we're supposed to interpret for them. That's like speaking in tongues without giving an interpretation, they won't understand what the heck God's saying to them!"
He waited for the mmmmm's and the ohhhh's to come from the crowd, and, giving a slight smirk, continued: "What's more powerful for someone - saying, 'I see an elephant, and he's coming to crush you, but God says jump on his back and ride it,' or 'You've been in a season of your life where you feel like there hasn't been a way out, but God is saying that He wants to use this situation to get you to where you need to go"? Or better yet, when you get the picture and a vague interpretation, start asking the Lord for a more specific interpretation. Ask Him for the first names of the people involved, the field of interest they're in, and ask them about it! Learn to hear God!" And then went on to demonstrate how this is done and we echoed it back to him. I was sitting forward in my chair, my legs going up and down like a dog wagging his tail, being filled with hope and passion.
The second I got out of that afternoon training time, I went and found the first person I could on the street of Meridian. He was a scruffy-looking hippy guy with a long beard and glasses. I pulled over. God said he's a man of power, and that he has more power over his current situation than he realizes. His eyes light up as I tell him this. "Yeah, I just got a DUI, and I dont' know what to do about this situation," he said, "Man, you just made my day!" I talked with him and walked beside him for a while as he shared more of his life and I told him about how God had impacted mine when I was addicted to drugs just a few years ago. I was pumped that it had worked so well.
I'm convinced that even if you completely mess up and get it wrong, thinking that God is speaking to you when you're not hearing Him at all, the simple fact that you want to bless people and love people, stepping out and being bold makes an impact on people. This is especially true when your motivation isn't "get people saved" - it's just having fun and revealing a supernatural God to those that don't really know about His existance and how He actually interacts with people and is real. And trust me, God is real.
That night at the church, I walked in and saw a woman with a cast on her arm. Her name was Molly. She told me how she had dislocated her thumb and it had caused her pain. I prayed for her. 25% gone. I called over my friend Sam. Sam has a lot of God inside of him, and it's really obvious. We pray together. Molly is in shock. The pain is completely gone.
She gets up on stage later (because I called her out to the pastor!) and says, "Not only was I healed," she holds up both of her thumbs, side-by-side, the tops of them level, "but one of my thumbs was half an inch shorter than the other one, and now they're both the same size!"
"Whoah!" I say, and Sam started his Holy-Spirit-drunken laugh. If God was real, He definetely showed it that night.
Earlier that day I had sat in on a guy speaking. His name was Shawn Bolz. And he brought it. That afternoon he taught all of us oldschool Pentecostals how to hear God accurately, and speak those words over people.
"You gotta realize that God speaks in parables," the 6-foot-something, 35-year-old single pastor from Hollywood spoke over the microphone, "and we're not supposed to just give that parable, we're supposed to interpret for them. That's like speaking in tongues without giving an interpretation, they won't understand what the heck God's saying to them!"
He waited for the mmmmm's and the ohhhh's to come from the crowd, and, giving a slight smirk, continued: "What's more powerful for someone - saying, 'I see an elephant, and he's coming to crush you, but God says jump on his back and ride it,' or 'You've been in a season of your life where you feel like there hasn't been a way out, but God is saying that He wants to use this situation to get you to where you need to go"? Or better yet, when you get the picture and a vague interpretation, start asking the Lord for a more specific interpretation. Ask Him for the first names of the people involved, the field of interest they're in, and ask them about it! Learn to hear God!" And then went on to demonstrate how this is done and we echoed it back to him. I was sitting forward in my chair, my legs going up and down like a dog wagging his tail, being filled with hope and passion.
The second I got out of that afternoon training time, I went and found the first person I could on the street of Meridian. He was a scruffy-looking hippy guy with a long beard and glasses. I pulled over. God said he's a man of power, and that he has more power over his current situation than he realizes. His eyes light up as I tell him this. "Yeah, I just got a DUI, and I dont' know what to do about this situation," he said, "Man, you just made my day!" I talked with him and walked beside him for a while as he shared more of his life and I told him about how God had impacted mine when I was addicted to drugs just a few years ago. I was pumped that it had worked so well.
I'm convinced that even if you completely mess up and get it wrong, thinking that God is speaking to you when you're not hearing Him at all, the simple fact that you want to bless people and love people, stepping out and being bold makes an impact on people. This is especially true when your motivation isn't "get people saved" - it's just having fun and revealing a supernatural God to those that don't really know about His existance and how He actually interacts with people and is real. And trust me, God is real.
That night at the church, I walked in and saw a woman with a cast on her arm. Her name was Molly. She told me how she had dislocated her thumb and it had caused her pain. I prayed for her. 25% gone. I called over my friend Sam. Sam has a lot of God inside of him, and it's really obvious. We pray together. Molly is in shock. The pain is completely gone.
She gets up on stage later (because I called her out to the pastor!) and says, "Not only was I healed," she holds up both of her thumbs, side-by-side, the tops of them level, "but one of my thumbs was half an inch shorter than the other one, and now they're both the same size!"
"Whoah!" I say, and Sam started his Holy-Spirit-drunken laugh. If God was real, He definetely showed it that night.
Friday, March 12, 2010
Play Station
The commons area hummed and murmured with activity. A larger, quiet woman spoke to a younger man with large, gauged ears and a squeaky voice, probably brought on by a cold, about her English assignments. Sitting right beside them were two men with gray hair, one of them having a head-full of it, the other talking to him about the Bible. In the corner, an elderly woman whom I recognized from my math class was selling pizzas for 5 dollars, an offer I took up in a moment.
My fingers tapped the keys on my computer. The image on the screen changed from a facebook page to IGN.com, the website of the International Gaming Network, and on the homepage is a CG photo of a young, slender woman in shorts and a vest with short hair, with the title “Final Fantasy XIII” is here. I look at my page history, and the last few days have the IGN logo splattered all over it.
At the moment that I am about to click on the link to watch the intro video just one more time, I hear the fast drums and heavy chug-chug of guitars from my pocket, and my brother's angry face on the display. I answer.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Matt, how's it goin?”
“Good man, you?”
“Goooood. So heeeey I'm sitting here staring at about 13 PS3's on the shelf...”
“Where?”
“Best Buy.”
“What the heck, seriously?”
“Yeah. So... you want me to get one?”
I sit there for a millisecond or two. Opposing thoughts ran through my brain. One said Dude, you just got back $2500 on your tax return! Get 'er done! Another said You know if you just get it you'll play it all the time and get sucked in. Remember when you threw away all your PS2 games in ministry school? The last, and finally the one that took over, said Man, you made a promise to your brother that you'd go in on one with him, and I know it'll be really fun. Just do it.
“Yeah, man, let's do it. I just got my tax return back and we definitely need to get a PS3.”
“All right, sounds good. I'll see you when you get home.”
I hung up. Sighing, I bent over and ran my hands through through the one-inch-long extrusions of protein that shot up from my scalp, finally gripping the back of my skull as my elbows touched my knees. Looking for answers up at the ceiling, I pack up my bags and head off to work.
The next few hours of janitorial were spent tormented by thoughts. I'd come so far! I was seeing people get healed miraculously in front of my eyes, I was having encounters with God in heavenly places, I was hearing Him for myself and others with pin-point accuracy. I've come so far, I thought, and now I'm going straight back to something I was freed from. I felt like the dog in Proverbs, “As a dog returns to its vomit, so a fool repeats his folly.” It was just a PS3, though, it wasn't like I was going back to doing drugs or anything. But I had high hopes for my life, and I didn't want something as stupid as this to drag me down. I vacuumed the rug, sucking up all the garbage into my backpack.
As I pondered this, my thoughts turned to God. Up until now I just assumed I knew what He wanted for me, and what He wanted to do. I didn't try to contrive an answer like I had so many times, I just waited and listened. I gave it up to God and started sweeping Victory Academy.
Then a random thought came into my head. I hadn't even considered this, it just snuck into the stronghold of my mind and checkmated its king.
Matt, said the thought, I'm allowing you to have this PS3 because you've been through the trials of life and I can now trust you with it.
I stood dead still, staring intently into space. A tear began to well up in my eye. God trusts me. I'm worthy of trust. For so long the church has taught the doctrine of “Sinners in the Hand of Angry God.” They mean well, for without God we truly are nothing. But I believe that what we're missing is a revelation of what Jesus' blood actually does. It doesn't just make us go to heaven when we die – the blood of Jesus changes us, from the inside out. His death put our own sinful nature to death, and His resurrection raises us anew from the dead, not just theoretically, but as a spiritual reality.
At one time in my life, I wasn't strong enough or trustworthy enough to have a PlayStation 3. Now that old man has been buried in baptism, so that I may walk in newness of life. He's turned my life into His Play-Station, and the joy I get to experience is beyond words.
My fingers tapped the keys on my computer. The image on the screen changed from a facebook page to IGN.com, the website of the International Gaming Network, and on the homepage is a CG photo of a young, slender woman in shorts and a vest with short hair, with the title “Final Fantasy XIII” is here. I look at my page history, and the last few days have the IGN logo splattered all over it.
At the moment that I am about to click on the link to watch the intro video just one more time, I hear the fast drums and heavy chug-chug of guitars from my pocket, and my brother's angry face on the display. I answer.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Matt, how's it goin?”
“Good man, you?”
“Goooood. So heeeey I'm sitting here staring at about 13 PS3's on the shelf...”
“Where?”
“Best Buy.”
“What the heck, seriously?”
“Yeah. So... you want me to get one?”
I sit there for a millisecond or two. Opposing thoughts ran through my brain. One said Dude, you just got back $2500 on your tax return! Get 'er done! Another said You know if you just get it you'll play it all the time and get sucked in. Remember when you threw away all your PS2 games in ministry school? The last, and finally the one that took over, said Man, you made a promise to your brother that you'd go in on one with him, and I know it'll be really fun. Just do it.
“Yeah, man, let's do it. I just got my tax return back and we definitely need to get a PS3.”
“All right, sounds good. I'll see you when you get home.”
I hung up. Sighing, I bent over and ran my hands through through the one-inch-long extrusions of protein that shot up from my scalp, finally gripping the back of my skull as my elbows touched my knees. Looking for answers up at the ceiling, I pack up my bags and head off to work.
The next few hours of janitorial were spent tormented by thoughts. I'd come so far! I was seeing people get healed miraculously in front of my eyes, I was having encounters with God in heavenly places, I was hearing Him for myself and others with pin-point accuracy. I've come so far, I thought, and now I'm going straight back to something I was freed from. I felt like the dog in Proverbs, “As a dog returns to its vomit, so a fool repeats his folly.” It was just a PS3, though, it wasn't like I was going back to doing drugs or anything. But I had high hopes for my life, and I didn't want something as stupid as this to drag me down. I vacuumed the rug, sucking up all the garbage into my backpack.
As I pondered this, my thoughts turned to God. Up until now I just assumed I knew what He wanted for me, and what He wanted to do. I didn't try to contrive an answer like I had so many times, I just waited and listened. I gave it up to God and started sweeping Victory Academy.
Then a random thought came into my head. I hadn't even considered this, it just snuck into the stronghold of my mind and checkmated its king.
Matt, said the thought, I'm allowing you to have this PS3 because you've been through the trials of life and I can now trust you with it.
I stood dead still, staring intently into space. A tear began to well up in my eye. God trusts me. I'm worthy of trust. For so long the church has taught the doctrine of “Sinners in the Hand of Angry God.” They mean well, for without God we truly are nothing. But I believe that what we're missing is a revelation of what Jesus' blood actually does. It doesn't just make us go to heaven when we die – the blood of Jesus changes us, from the inside out. His death put our own sinful nature to death, and His resurrection raises us anew from the dead, not just theoretically, but as a spiritual reality.
At one time in my life, I wasn't strong enough or trustworthy enough to have a PlayStation 3. Now that old man has been buried in baptism, so that I may walk in newness of life. He's turned my life into His Play-Station, and the joy I get to experience is beyond words.
Friday, March 5, 2010
Weak Knees
As I slouched in my purple cushioned chair, my black-and-white-stripe DC shoes on the bar of the chair in front of me and my knees higher than my head, Pastor Jim announced that the students from the School of Supernatural Ministry were going to be giving prophetic words today. I sat up straight in my chair. These six students came and lined up in a row at the front: a tall, dark-haired man in his 30's, a woman with red, medium length red hair in her 40's, a sharp-looking 20-something with curly hair and a huge grin, a short little giggly 18-year-old, and two older women with passion-gone-crazy in their eyes. Tagged on the end, however, was a 5'2” 49-year-old woman that didn't look a day older than 35, wearing a shirt of bright yellow and designer jeans, with shoes to match. The glory of God seemed to emanate from her face, her ear-to-ear smile forcing my lips wide and my eyes soft as I watched.
This is my mother.
As the students were each given the mic as they received words from God, they began to minister. Some of the students spoke to everyone at the same time in a sort-of preaching fashion, while others had specific congregation members stand up as they gave a fresh word to them from the Lord. The 20-something, Jack, pointed out a young woman in the back of the sanctuary, who stood up, almost surprised that she had been picked. I turned around in my seat, looking back and forth from Jack to this woman as he spoke. Her expression went from a closed-lips stare to a near-teary-eyed smile in moments, and as they finished I noticed a shiver shooting down my back. A “whoah” escaped my lips, followed by a sinister chuckle that seemed to spur on the excitement of the woman next to me.
After all of the students shared, it was finally my sweet Mommy's turn. She took hold of the mic, still smiling, gazing toward the sound booth. “Yeah,” she said, affirming the other speakers, “yeah.” She paused, exhaling off the mic. “So this is for Dan Hammel, back there in the sound booth.” She gave a chuckle. “I have a question – do you have any metal in your body?”
Dan nodded. “Yeah, in my knees.”
“Whoah!” I said, raising my voice.
“Oh, wow,” my mom said, her smile growing larger, “Well that...fits pretty well,” she said, “because the verse I got for you was in Hebrews 12, where it says 'Strengthen your feeble arms and your weak knees. Make level paths for your feet, so that the lame may not be disabled, but rather healed.' And I feel like God does want to heal your body, but he also wants to strengthen you so that you can stand up under pressure and against the attacks of the enemy.” Dan just nodded and smiled.
“Whoooaaah!”
As she handed off the mic to Pastor Jim, the audience all stood up and gave the students a round of applause. I was applauding them, but mostly I was applauding my mommy.
I love her so much.
Growing up in a highly spiritual family has always been a huge blessing for me. Even when I was going through my rebellious stage as a teenager, there was never a question in my mind about the reality of God and who He was. I knew he still loved me and cared about me, even if the only interaction I had with him was praying that he'd help me win at my Star Wars computer game.
My mom was the one that kept my brother and I afloat spiritually. While I was out with my “policy debate friends” doing drugs and partying, she was losing sleep praying for me, crying her eyes out and not knowing why. She was my anchor, my true-north.
She was there with me while I was screaming in my room, “Fuck God! Fuck you, I don't fucking want anything to do with a God that would let people die!” She was there for me while I would spend days depressed, wanting nothing to do with life and getting lost in the world of Final Fantasy VIII. She was there by me when I came back six months early from an internship in Chile, having deeply wounded a family there, resulting in me no longer wanting anything from life. She loved me through it all, and continues to speak my destiny to me over coffee and cereal every morning.
Sometimes in church I'll go up and give my mommy a kiss and a big hug, telling her she's the greatest mommy that ever lived. I think it inspires people. And even if it doesn't, I could care less.
This is my mother.
As the students were each given the mic as they received words from God, they began to minister. Some of the students spoke to everyone at the same time in a sort-of preaching fashion, while others had specific congregation members stand up as they gave a fresh word to them from the Lord. The 20-something, Jack, pointed out a young woman in the back of the sanctuary, who stood up, almost surprised that she had been picked. I turned around in my seat, looking back and forth from Jack to this woman as he spoke. Her expression went from a closed-lips stare to a near-teary-eyed smile in moments, and as they finished I noticed a shiver shooting down my back. A “whoah” escaped my lips, followed by a sinister chuckle that seemed to spur on the excitement of the woman next to me.
After all of the students shared, it was finally my sweet Mommy's turn. She took hold of the mic, still smiling, gazing toward the sound booth. “Yeah,” she said, affirming the other speakers, “yeah.” She paused, exhaling off the mic. “So this is for Dan Hammel, back there in the sound booth.” She gave a chuckle. “I have a question – do you have any metal in your body?”
Dan nodded. “Yeah, in my knees.”
“Whoah!” I said, raising my voice.
“Oh, wow,” my mom said, her smile growing larger, “Well that...fits pretty well,” she said, “because the verse I got for you was in Hebrews 12, where it says 'Strengthen your feeble arms and your weak knees. Make level paths for your feet, so that the lame may not be disabled, but rather healed.' And I feel like God does want to heal your body, but he also wants to strengthen you so that you can stand up under pressure and against the attacks of the enemy.” Dan just nodded and smiled.
“Whoooaaah!”
As she handed off the mic to Pastor Jim, the audience all stood up and gave the students a round of applause. I was applauding them, but mostly I was applauding my mommy.
I love her so much.
Growing up in a highly spiritual family has always been a huge blessing for me. Even when I was going through my rebellious stage as a teenager, there was never a question in my mind about the reality of God and who He was. I knew he still loved me and cared about me, even if the only interaction I had with him was praying that he'd help me win at my Star Wars computer game.
My mom was the one that kept my brother and I afloat spiritually. While I was out with my “policy debate friends” doing drugs and partying, she was losing sleep praying for me, crying her eyes out and not knowing why. She was my anchor, my true-north.
She was there with me while I was screaming in my room, “Fuck God! Fuck you, I don't fucking want anything to do with a God that would let people die!” She was there for me while I would spend days depressed, wanting nothing to do with life and getting lost in the world of Final Fantasy VIII. She was there by me when I came back six months early from an internship in Chile, having deeply wounded a family there, resulting in me no longer wanting anything from life. She loved me through it all, and continues to speak my destiny to me over coffee and cereal every morning.
Sometimes in church I'll go up and give my mommy a kiss and a big hug, telling her she's the greatest mommy that ever lived. I think it inspires people. And even if it doesn't, I could care less.
Thursday, February 25, 2010
“So I have ghosts in my house.”
I looked over my microwaved Lean Cuisine meal, unconsciously raising my eyebrows toward Mischa. She was a skinny, attractive, late-twenties woman with dark black Cleopatra hair - a high school night teacher. I listened attentively as she extrapolated:
“Yeah, I haven't been able to sleep for the last week, because as soon as I turn the lights off, these....ghost things start showing up in my room. I put dragon's blood all over the room, but I don't know if it helped. I hope it does.”
At this, another teacher in the break room piped up. His name was Dale, a balding man in his late 50s with glasses and a well-aged, charming smile. He said, “Dragon's blood? What's that?”
“Yeah, are dragons real or something?” I added.
“No, it's a potion. I went to this like witchcraft shop and asked for it. It was really weird going in there. When I asked the lady across the counter for Dragon's Blood, she's like, 'ah, yur havin trouble with ghosts, are ya?' I was looking at her like she was weird, and it seemed like she thought I was pretty weird too.”
I could just imagine Mischa in that store with her skinny jeans and Egyptian hair cut, arms folded, staring at this little old lady.
“So she gave me the dragon's blood, and I'm like, 'thanks,' and got out of there. I poured that stuff all over my house...”
“Where, on like the carpet?” I asked.
“No, like on the doorframes and bedstand and stuff.”
I looked over at Dale, and he looked at me with his lips pushed together in a type of grimmace and his eyebrows raised flatly like two level platforms. “Are you serious?” he said, “Are you going insane or something?”
She began to answer, but I cut her off, “Nope, she's telling the truth, they're real.”
Dale just shook his head and went back to eating his food.
Later, after Mischa went back to class, Dale and I talked about it. He told me that he had been a Christian his whole life, but all of this was new to him. He said he'd heard about those types of things elsewhere, but said that “he never knew that kind of thing happened in Boise!”
I just smiled and shook my head. I had the trumpcard, but I didn't want to play it. I knew something that Dale had a sense of but Mischa had no idea about – those ghosts weren't ghosts at all, but demons. My heart was filled with compassion for her, as I knew that going up and telling her that wouldn't be very reassuring. She needed something real, something tangible, something that worked. The world is crying out for not only a God that's real, but also a God that is different than their parents' hateful, angry, judgmental, hair-trigger-temper idea of a loving Heavenly Father.
I looked over my microwaved Lean Cuisine meal, unconsciously raising my eyebrows toward Mischa. She was a skinny, attractive, late-twenties woman with dark black Cleopatra hair - a high school night teacher. I listened attentively as she extrapolated:
“Yeah, I haven't been able to sleep for the last week, because as soon as I turn the lights off, these....ghost things start showing up in my room. I put dragon's blood all over the room, but I don't know if it helped. I hope it does.”
At this, another teacher in the break room piped up. His name was Dale, a balding man in his late 50s with glasses and a well-aged, charming smile. He said, “Dragon's blood? What's that?”
“Yeah, are dragons real or something?” I added.
“No, it's a potion. I went to this like witchcraft shop and asked for it. It was really weird going in there. When I asked the lady across the counter for Dragon's Blood, she's like, 'ah, yur havin trouble with ghosts, are ya?' I was looking at her like she was weird, and it seemed like she thought I was pretty weird too.”
I could just imagine Mischa in that store with her skinny jeans and Egyptian hair cut, arms folded, staring at this little old lady.
“So she gave me the dragon's blood, and I'm like, 'thanks,' and got out of there. I poured that stuff all over my house...”
“Where, on like the carpet?” I asked.
“No, like on the doorframes and bedstand and stuff.”
I looked over at Dale, and he looked at me with his lips pushed together in a type of grimmace and his eyebrows raised flatly like two level platforms. “Are you serious?” he said, “Are you going insane or something?”
She began to answer, but I cut her off, “Nope, she's telling the truth, they're real.”
Dale just shook his head and went back to eating his food.
Later, after Mischa went back to class, Dale and I talked about it. He told me that he had been a Christian his whole life, but all of this was new to him. He said he'd heard about those types of things elsewhere, but said that “he never knew that kind of thing happened in Boise!”
I just smiled and shook my head. I had the trumpcard, but I didn't want to play it. I knew something that Dale had a sense of but Mischa had no idea about – those ghosts weren't ghosts at all, but demons. My heart was filled with compassion for her, as I knew that going up and telling her that wouldn't be very reassuring. She needed something real, something tangible, something that worked. The world is crying out for not only a God that's real, but also a God that is different than their parents' hateful, angry, judgmental, hair-trigger-temper idea of a loving Heavenly Father.
Thursday, February 18, 2010
Valentine's Day Miracle
I tapped my fingers on the wheel at 1 and 11 o'clock, my head bobbing up and down. I took the turn, turning the wheel with the palm of my hand right on 12, moving the tapping to the armrest on my left, and maneuvered my green Ford Escort into the parking space in front of the church. Turning off the engine, I pulled my phone out of my pocket and glanced at the last text sent, rolling my eyes. As I leaned back and closed my eyes for a couple of seconds, sighing out my nose as I slumped out the door and into the church, I wondered why I had signed up for this.
Not that there was anything wrong with what was happening – it was a valentine's dinner for married couples. I absolutely love and value the married couples in my church – they have encouraged my life and modeled for me what a mature relationship looks like, and I appreciate that immensely. But I was tired – exhausted, even. It was one of those weeks – school, homework, 8-hour custodian workday. Re-rinse, re-use, re-wash, times five. And not only that, but it was Single's Awareness Day. The declaration on my friend Sandy's facebook status update page resounded in my head: “Dear single men of Boise: grow a backbone. Thanks, Sandy.” And amid all this, when I received a text from the pastor's son to help out with the dinner, I reluctantly said yes. And now, looking back, I'm so glad I did.
I smiled at a middle-aged man that I recognized from my church, dressed in a full tuxedo as he walked into the sanctuary. Everyone that came in looked beautiful - the red dresses, the high heels, the white bowties. I can't wait to get married.
As I began to serve the food to the teenage waiters and waitresses from our youth group, I noticed an older man out of the corner of my eye leaving the building with his wife. I knew this couple, they've been around charismatic churches in the Boise area for years, but this time I noticed something different that I can't believe I didn't notice before: the man was walking with a cane.
In the Bible, Jesus disciples were sent out with an odd mission: “Heal the sick, raise the dead, cleanse the lepers, cast out demons. Freely you received, freely give” (Matthew 10:8). I believe God is the same yesterday, today, and forever – He was the healer then, and He's the healer now. Programming had taken over – I switched to auto-pilot and walked over to the older man, my friend Bill.
Bill's eyes were on the door. After he walked through the door, his eyes were on the car. His wife helped him out by holding the door open just as I walked up, his grey hair beginning to slightly blow above his thick-framed glasses. They greeted me with warm smiles, but only for a second as their gaze was directed back toward their Mercedes. I went out on a limp:
“Hey, Bill! Did you guys have a good time?
His wife looked at me and said, “Yeah, we had a great time! Thanks so much for helping out tonight!”
“No problem! I'm just glad you guys had fun.” I paused and looked at Bill, who had made his way to the driver's-seat door. “Hey, I didn't know you had a cane! Are you in a lot of pain when you walk?”
Bill's lips turned flat. “Yeah, every day.”
“Hey, well...can I pray for you real quick?”
“Sure.”
“Ok!” I stepped down off the curb, putting my hand on Bill's shoulder. “Lord Jesus, I just pray for Bill right now, and I just ask that you come and heal his whole body, from head to toe, right now in the name of Jesus. Come and be with him tonight, Father. We love you God, thank you for being awesome. Amen.”
“Amen. Thanks Matt” he said as he got in the car and shut the door, immediately turning on the heater. His wife came and gave me a hug, and they were off.
The rest of the story is really interesting. Honestly I wasn't expecting anything to happen there, in fact it seems like the coolest stories are when God heals someone that I hardly remember praying for. I only remember this story because my mom texts me the next day while I'm at work, contemplating what God thinks of me and whether my future holds anything exciting. The text said “Bill, the guy you prayed for the other night, got totally healed!”
There was no white light on Valentine's Day. There were no angels (that I could see, anyway) that came and danced around the three of us as we huddled around his car on that cold February night. There was just me, a strangely zealous 23-year-old, alongside a loving woman full of grace, and an old man who, after he arrived home and got into bed, couldn't sleep because after 20 years of excruciating pain, was up for hours trying to figure out how a person without pain in their body sleeps. It truly was a Valentine's Day miracle. And Bill was God's Valentine.
Not that there was anything wrong with what was happening – it was a valentine's dinner for married couples. I absolutely love and value the married couples in my church – they have encouraged my life and modeled for me what a mature relationship looks like, and I appreciate that immensely. But I was tired – exhausted, even. It was one of those weeks – school, homework, 8-hour custodian workday. Re-rinse, re-use, re-wash, times five. And not only that, but it was Single's Awareness Day. The declaration on my friend Sandy's facebook status update page resounded in my head: “Dear single men of Boise: grow a backbone. Thanks, Sandy.” And amid all this, when I received a text from the pastor's son to help out with the dinner, I reluctantly said yes. And now, looking back, I'm so glad I did.
I smiled at a middle-aged man that I recognized from my church, dressed in a full tuxedo as he walked into the sanctuary. Everyone that came in looked beautiful - the red dresses, the high heels, the white bowties. I can't wait to get married.
As I began to serve the food to the teenage waiters and waitresses from our youth group, I noticed an older man out of the corner of my eye leaving the building with his wife. I knew this couple, they've been around charismatic churches in the Boise area for years, but this time I noticed something different that I can't believe I didn't notice before: the man was walking with a cane.
In the Bible, Jesus disciples were sent out with an odd mission: “Heal the sick, raise the dead, cleanse the lepers, cast out demons. Freely you received, freely give” (Matthew 10:8). I believe God is the same yesterday, today, and forever – He was the healer then, and He's the healer now. Programming had taken over – I switched to auto-pilot and walked over to the older man, my friend Bill.
Bill's eyes were on the door. After he walked through the door, his eyes were on the car. His wife helped him out by holding the door open just as I walked up, his grey hair beginning to slightly blow above his thick-framed glasses. They greeted me with warm smiles, but only for a second as their gaze was directed back toward their Mercedes. I went out on a limp:
“Hey, Bill! Did you guys have a good time?
His wife looked at me and said, “Yeah, we had a great time! Thanks so much for helping out tonight!”
“No problem! I'm just glad you guys had fun.” I paused and looked at Bill, who had made his way to the driver's-seat door. “Hey, I didn't know you had a cane! Are you in a lot of pain when you walk?”
Bill's lips turned flat. “Yeah, every day.”
“Hey, well...can I pray for you real quick?”
“Sure.”
“Ok!” I stepped down off the curb, putting my hand on Bill's shoulder. “Lord Jesus, I just pray for Bill right now, and I just ask that you come and heal his whole body, from head to toe, right now in the name of Jesus. Come and be with him tonight, Father. We love you God, thank you for being awesome. Amen.”
“Amen. Thanks Matt” he said as he got in the car and shut the door, immediately turning on the heater. His wife came and gave me a hug, and they were off.
The rest of the story is really interesting. Honestly I wasn't expecting anything to happen there, in fact it seems like the coolest stories are when God heals someone that I hardly remember praying for. I only remember this story because my mom texts me the next day while I'm at work, contemplating what God thinks of me and whether my future holds anything exciting. The text said “Bill, the guy you prayed for the other night, got totally healed!”
There was no white light on Valentine's Day. There were no angels (that I could see, anyway) that came and danced around the three of us as we huddled around his car on that cold February night. There was just me, a strangely zealous 23-year-old, alongside a loving woman full of grace, and an old man who, after he arrived home and got into bed, couldn't sleep because after 20 years of excruciating pain, was up for hours trying to figure out how a person without pain in their body sleeps. It truly was a Valentine's Day miracle. And Bill was God's Valentine.
Thursday, February 11, 2010
on earth as it is in heaven
My eyes were closed, head held high, as Sam's disarming laughter rose up from within. I raised up my hands, my lips opening like the gate of heaven before me.
Chinden Rd, Ustick Rd.
Light flooded my senses as my consciousness slipped into my Father's powerful arms. To my left stood a large being in a white robe and ballerina slippers, rhythmically stepping to the left, to the right, her head following the lead of her heart, her wings fluttering up as the curl of her lips broke down my defenses.
Fairview Ave, Franklin Rd.
To my right was another being, this one having fur all over his back, raised on his hind legs, his cuddly paws clapping together in unison with the angel's wings, lurching forward, then crawling back, as if an invisible wall was keeping him in place.
Locust Grove, Eagle Rd.
I opened my eyes – and there he was, the man of liberty. The sign he passionately shook around promised relief to those under heavy financial burden – he gives us rest. His pimply teenage face and red hair were counteracted by his warm, inviting smile, drawing us into his presence. The glow about him pierced through our very souls. This was our man – the target of God's grace.
The car drifted in slowly beside this guy into a small dirt lot to the side of an abandoned building. He eyes met Sam's for a second before he returned to his liberty tax dance. Sam never took his eyes off this guy. As the car came to a stop, Sam bounded out of the driver's seat and approached the Statue of Liberty. The sound of traffic muffled the voices coming from the corner of the street, and I opened the door to put one foot out on the dirt before I stopped dead. As I watched, I saw a gentleness in Sam's eyes, but the fire lingered just underneath – pulsating, ravaging. Heaven had opened again - without any music playing and with my eyes wide open. I was pinned to my seat. My heart rate lessened, my thoughts fled, and my arms sighed with relief, slumping onto the armrest.
It came in waves. Nothing about the two men's conversation gave any clue as to what was happening – but I could feel it. It was more real than if a hundred soldiers showed up outside my patio, guns ready to blow out the windows. I sometimes wonder if what we see in this physical world is the true reality. Going out on these treasure hunts gives me a different perspective.
One time I was at a hardcore metal show downtown. Only the glow of the stage lights and the occasional white shirt sticking out like a sore thumb could be seen in the cave of the Boise Venue. The dark room masked the dancing, if you can call it that, happening on the floor. Amidst the screaming chords and the hoots and hollers of avid fans, I overheard a snippet of a conversation coming from my diagonal-right. From what I can see, It's between a short, skinny guy with shaggy hair and a rather large, tall young man with a “balla” cap on.
“Why aren't you out there, man?” said the short guy.
“Dude, my knee fuckin hurts, I don't know why,” responded the big guy.
Ding-ding! I heard the bell. It was time to rumble. As the audience clapped at the end of the song and there was a moment of clarity, I asked the guy, “hey, so what's wrong with your knee?”
“I dunno, I must've gotten hurt in the pit or something.”
“Dang that sucks, dude....” A vein in my head pops out. “Hey...can I pray for you?”
“Uh...sure.”
“Cool.” I quivered as I put my hand on his knee. “Lord Jesus, right now I...command this pain to go right now in the name of Jesus. Thank you, Jesus, for revealing your love to...” I looked at him.
“Tony.”
I showed off my dimples, letting out a tender puff of air from my nostrils. “For Tony, Lord. Your word says to pray 'on earth as it is in heaven', and we know there's no knee pain in heaven. So Lord, we command this pain to go right now in the name of Jesus.”
I took my hand off. His pushed his lips together as he reached out with one hand behind my back and around the side. “Thanks, man.”
“No problem dude.” He looked the other way, seeing his friend there. “Check it out,” I said in a slightly louder voice, “how's it feel?”
He stomped his foot on the ground. He hesitated. He stomped his foot on the ground again, and a third time after that. “Holy shit,” he said, “the pain's gone! What the....holy shit!”
My eyes lit up. “Dude, you just got healed! Wow! Praise God!”
“I know....” His mouth was gaping open. He stumbled into a bear-hug. The clunk-clunk of a reality shift could be heard in his mind as the band started their next song. I was the first one out on the floor.
Chinden Rd, Ustick Rd.
Light flooded my senses as my consciousness slipped into my Father's powerful arms. To my left stood a large being in a white robe and ballerina slippers, rhythmically stepping to the left, to the right, her head following the lead of her heart, her wings fluttering up as the curl of her lips broke down my defenses.
Fairview Ave, Franklin Rd.
To my right was another being, this one having fur all over his back, raised on his hind legs, his cuddly paws clapping together in unison with the angel's wings, lurching forward, then crawling back, as if an invisible wall was keeping him in place.
Locust Grove, Eagle Rd.
I opened my eyes – and there he was, the man of liberty. The sign he passionately shook around promised relief to those under heavy financial burden – he gives us rest. His pimply teenage face and red hair were counteracted by his warm, inviting smile, drawing us into his presence. The glow about him pierced through our very souls. This was our man – the target of God's grace.
The car drifted in slowly beside this guy into a small dirt lot to the side of an abandoned building. He eyes met Sam's for a second before he returned to his liberty tax dance. Sam never took his eyes off this guy. As the car came to a stop, Sam bounded out of the driver's seat and approached the Statue of Liberty. The sound of traffic muffled the voices coming from the corner of the street, and I opened the door to put one foot out on the dirt before I stopped dead. As I watched, I saw a gentleness in Sam's eyes, but the fire lingered just underneath – pulsating, ravaging. Heaven had opened again - without any music playing and with my eyes wide open. I was pinned to my seat. My heart rate lessened, my thoughts fled, and my arms sighed with relief, slumping onto the armrest.
It came in waves. Nothing about the two men's conversation gave any clue as to what was happening – but I could feel it. It was more real than if a hundred soldiers showed up outside my patio, guns ready to blow out the windows. I sometimes wonder if what we see in this physical world is the true reality. Going out on these treasure hunts gives me a different perspective.
One time I was at a hardcore metal show downtown. Only the glow of the stage lights and the occasional white shirt sticking out like a sore thumb could be seen in the cave of the Boise Venue. The dark room masked the dancing, if you can call it that, happening on the floor. Amidst the screaming chords and the hoots and hollers of avid fans, I overheard a snippet of a conversation coming from my diagonal-right. From what I can see, It's between a short, skinny guy with shaggy hair and a rather large, tall young man with a “balla” cap on.
“Why aren't you out there, man?” said the short guy.
“Dude, my knee fuckin hurts, I don't know why,” responded the big guy.
Ding-ding! I heard the bell. It was time to rumble. As the audience clapped at the end of the song and there was a moment of clarity, I asked the guy, “hey, so what's wrong with your knee?”
“I dunno, I must've gotten hurt in the pit or something.”
“Dang that sucks, dude....” A vein in my head pops out. “Hey...can I pray for you?”
“Uh...sure.”
“Cool.” I quivered as I put my hand on his knee. “Lord Jesus, right now I...command this pain to go right now in the name of Jesus. Thank you, Jesus, for revealing your love to...” I looked at him.
“Tony.”
I showed off my dimples, letting out a tender puff of air from my nostrils. “For Tony, Lord. Your word says to pray 'on earth as it is in heaven', and we know there's no knee pain in heaven. So Lord, we command this pain to go right now in the name of Jesus.”
I took my hand off. His pushed his lips together as he reached out with one hand behind my back and around the side. “Thanks, man.”
“No problem dude.” He looked the other way, seeing his friend there. “Check it out,” I said in a slightly louder voice, “how's it feel?”
He stomped his foot on the ground. He hesitated. He stomped his foot on the ground again, and a third time after that. “Holy shit,” he said, “the pain's gone! What the....holy shit!”
My eyes lit up. “Dude, you just got healed! Wow! Praise God!”
“I know....” His mouth was gaping open. He stumbled into a bear-hug. The clunk-clunk of a reality shift could be heard in his mind as the band started their next song. I was the first one out on the floor.
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