Journal of Whispers Gallery Photos + Article Link

from Chris Austin

And don't miss this article from the Christian County Headliner about the gallery.

Hatches—A Comparison

by Heather Myer

Group viewings of ABC’s LOST after Acoustic Night are a time honored tradition for Life Point’s young adults. LOST is not only good for learning clever nicknames, but also excellent for exploring bizarre links between Magnetic Resonance Imaging and the mysterious hatch. The hatch is buried in the midst of an island jungle where polar bears freely roam, mysterious wisps of smoke act as security systems, and children are readily abducted by the ‘Others.’

The hatch must have been inspired by an MRI. They both are large intimidating round objects. Equally mysterious to a first-time visitor, seemingly endless red numbers count time backwards on both devices. If a patient looks hard enough at the MRI, 4,8,15,16,23, and 42 can all been seen. Both contraptions have thunderous rumbling and beeping noises that leave the hearer half deaf despite pink ear plugs. The magnetic pull of an MRI causes a gentle tugging sensation, while the hatch caused Oceanic Flight 815 to fall from the sky.

One is strapped down during an MRI and must not move. Strangers to the hatch are either bound and gagged or doomed to an eternity of pressing a button. When told to type the numbers 4,8,15,16,23,42 into a computer every 108 minutes for the better part of Season 2, Dr. Jack Shephard sensibly objected. When told to remain perfectly still for 25 minutes during an MRI, all I could think of was how perfectly lovely a good kick into the air would feel.

A constant source of impending doom, the hatch could easily blow up an entire island. John Locke had faith that he was destined to be on the island for a purpose. He did not fully understand that purpose, but blindly believed his destiny was linked to the island and therefore the hatch. Over time, his faith waned. Locke did not have a clear purpose.

An MRI creates a panicked claustrophobia that is due in part to the bodily damage it might reveal and intensified by the machine‘s thundering noise. Knowing that I was destined to be at my appointment due to a distinct plan that my Father had for me, caused the panic to fade. Trust that no matter what the results might bear and faith the Holy Spirit would calm me, allowed my discomfort to pass. By meditating on him, the monstrous roar of the machine lessened. By singing praises unto him, 25 minutes without fidgeting quickly passed.

If only Locke’s faith had been in our Father rather than an uncharted island sustained by a magnetic explosive hatch! Unfortunately, fans of LOST must impatiently wait until Spring 2008 to discover what happens on the island. Thankfully, MRI results are available within 3-5 business days plus a doctor’s office call back.

Surely God is my salvation; I will trust and not be afraid. The Lord is my strength and my song; He has become my salvation. —Isaiah 12:2

-----IAmATVJunkie.com

The Biggest Loser

by Heather Myer

Each Tuesday night, promptly at 7:00 PM, I eagerly lounge on the couch before a certain television show and enjoy dinner. The Biggest Loser (TBL) depicts obese adults struggling to cleanse their toxic lifestyles in favor of healthy diet and exercise habits. Rather than grazing on carrot sticks and hummus, TBL tempts me to sip on Diet Dr Pepper with a fist full of Twizzlers in one hand and a bowl of White Cheddar Cheese Its in the other. The contestants on the ranch beat themselves up to purge excess pounds, while I quite happily pack on more.

Kicking my feet onto the coffee table, I accidentally nudged my Bible onto the floor. Then a truth struck me. Though I may not have an extra 100 pounds to shed, I have an immeasurable spiritual weight on my shoulders. The Word of God lay on my living room floor while I treasured treats of imitation cherry and cheese. When was the last time I had studied the Bible? Lane read to the congregation from Luke on Sunday. Dallas had read a Psalm during Acoustic Night last Wednesday. Had it really been a week? Knowing it was past time to take the weight off, I laid aside my soda and turned off the television. My Father was expecting me to participate in some long neglected exercise.

The unfolding of your word gives light. —Psalm 119:130

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Raising a Modern-Day Knight Teaches Fathers — Sons About Authentic Manhood

by Don Emmack

Can you clearly define authentic manhood? Even if you're able to cobble a few thoughts together, can you imagine trying to teach this idea to a young boy? It's a big challenge for most fathers and one where we fail often, yet Robert Lewis' Raising a Modern-Day Knight [RMDK] Bible study attacks this problem head-on.

Like many dads, I didn't receive much Christian guidance as a young man or as a young adult. After 30+ years Christ saved me, but I remember how my life waned absent of true purpose. I don't want my boys to leave the care of my house lost in a fallen world without hope and guidance, yet I feel overwhelmed teaching my sons the right things in life—with no clear plan to fix the problem.

Just imagine, your son is 18 years old, waving good-bye and driving off to college. How would you feel? Is your son equipped to handle the rough ride life will surely bring? Robert Lewis, author of RMDK, presents this sorrowful picture clearly to young dads. Based on his own experiences as a son and father, Lewis gives dads strategies to raise their boys. A six-week series, RMDK exposes many of the pitfalls of fatherhood and teaches men to lead their sons toward authentic manhood.

The study is short, yet the program teaches fathers techniques to raise their sons toward being a real man. It's a clear process to teach boys life lessons marked with appropriate ceremony. As a dad, you exit the program much better equipped and with a precise plan to teach your sons the underpinnings of manhood.

Recently, a dedicated group of fathers from Life Point and Second Baptist joined me in working through the program. I'd love to tell you all the details of the series but it would spoil the fun. First off, no girls allowed! This program is about godly men working together to form an environment for impressionable young boys. Don't worry, there are no secrete handshakes or passwords; however, ceremonies are important and kept private to enhance the memory of the event in the boys' life.

At the end of the program, each dad walks away well-equipped to work through the upcoming years with their boys. Some projects from the program will take years to complete and ultimately provide a road map for future generations in the family. Plus, the camaraderie from the program helps the fellowship of the men's community.

At the end of our first RMDK series, the fathers joined together to take the boys camping. It was the most rainy trip I've ever seen! Thunderstorms raged all night filling the tents with 2 inches of water. While we were wet and muddy, everyone had a good time and I'm certain the boys will always remember the trip.

If your a father of young boys I urge you to take the RMDK program. Better yet, sign up to lead an upcoming program. RMDK is helpful to most fathers, yet the program suits young boys from 6–12 years old. Scott O'dell has volunteered to lead the next RMDK adventure in the first quarter of 2008. Contact him directly for more information.

Financial Demons and Polka Dot Dresses

by Heather Myer

A financial demon lured me into Banana Republic. At least that is what I later told myself. I was quite innocently window shopping at Battlefield Mall, when a polka-dot dress caught my eye. Pushing aside all promises of faithful budgeting, I tiptoed into the store. Soon, I was in a dressing room modeling my prize. The pattern was cut from the sixties and exactly the perfect length for my tall stature. Swirling before the mirror, I grinned to think what my mother would say if she knew my intent to splurge.

“Where exactly would you wear that?” Mum would ask.

“Where wouldn’t I wear it?” I would cheekily retort.

“That is the same cost as your car payment. You’ll have no one to blame but yourself if you have to eat Ramen Noodles for the rest of the month.” Mum would counter.

I faltered. $168 was one third of my rent. Years after graduating college, when shopping at the Dollar Tree was a luxury, I still had not upgraded from Special Kitty to Tidy Cat nor from Purex to Tide. Always Save and Best Choice have been my close companions for many years. We have a tight relationship. This is largely due to my Mother‘s lessons in thrift.

“Yes, but Mum! It is just like Julia Robert’s dress in Pretty Woman!” I pointlessly argued as I kicked my heel back to further admire the full skirt. Pretty Woman, a beloved ninety’s classic, was a story of transformation. Richard Gere’s character fell in love with Julia’s, despite her past as a woman of ill-repute. Edward Lewis taught Vivian Ward that she was a lady of worth and great value.

Sighing, I knew the dress was never meant to be mine. This lesson was one I had already learned, for I am a daughter of the King. I have inherent honor, value, worth, and a responsibility. Frowning, I slipped out of the dress. How could I justify $168 frivolous dollars when I am merely the steward of God’s treasury? God gave and he could easily take away. With the same money, I could tithe more effectively, donate to missions more generously, or anonymously help some of the struggling single mothers at work. Just the day before, a care package fundraiser from the Navy arrived in the mail. It contained a picture of a sailor doubled over, his face screwed up tight, his hands balled into fists, crying in agony. The caption said, “This sailor has not received a care package in a very long time. Won’t you please help?” Though I could not doubt the sailor’s pain, I very much questioned its cause. It was doubtful that a box of Little Debbie Cakes, Mad Libs, and Entertainment Weekly could even begin to comfort his distress. All the same, care packages for our milita in Iraq was a much worthier way to spend my pay check than on the pretty dotted garment that hung forlornly on the clothing rack.

Desperately wishing that giving was not the strongest of my spiritual gifts, I left Banana Republic. Later, at Wal-mart, I slipped a Denise Austin DVD among my Sam’s Choice soup cans and Great Value milk. Every now and again, a girl needs to splurge.

Each one should use whatever gift he has received to serve others, faithfully administering God’s grace in its various forms. —1 Peter 4:10

----- Dress photo source Pretty Woman photo source

Greeting the Dawn

by Heather Myer

Physical training is of some value, but godliness has value for all things, holding promise for both the present life and the life to come. --1 Timothy 4:8

Sound, comfortable sleep was broken by the unceasing cry of three alarm clocks. Groaning, I rolled over and slapped at the various squawking contraptions. I must not be late. Slipping into my shoes, I carelessly tossed my hair up and grabbed a glass of water before leaving my comfortable home. It was only 5:40 in the morning. The sun had not yet graced the horizon and I was preparing for a 7 mile jog through Springfield. Most sane citizens remained asleep in their beds. Fighting the tempting thought, I pulled away in my car towards the Green Way Trails.

Arriving at Sequiota Park, I joined sleepy joggers as they ambled around, trying to their shake heads free of lingering dreams. Three familiar figures waved me over. Sarah, Linden, and Alison greeted me cheerfully as they stretched at a large rock. Murmuring greetings, we fell in with the group of runners and awaited our instructions. Not paying close attention, I tightened my shoe laces and pocketed a power gel. The twists and turns of the course were hard for me to comprehend before a decent cup of coffee. Two months of early morning runs had taught me this. Sarah and Linden would accurately remember the details down to the last tenth of a mile. Alison and I would follow. We gathered with the half marathoners and began our trek.

The sun was now peaking in the sky. The landscape, once cloaked in black and gray, was at last clarified by color. A cool breeze encouraged us up the sloped course. I cherished the wind. It would not last for long. Birds began to sing in the glen. Nature was arising and so were we. The lane was covered by a canopy of trees, marked by ivy, marigolds, queen anne’s lace, morning glories, and bordered by a tall meadow. Mist clung to the tops of sun flowers and the tall grass. Concentrating on the meadow, I daydreamed of climbing through the grassy maze to an adventure of epic proportion. Leaving behind my routine job and daily duties in trade for a new kingdom and a mission. Before I could brandish my sword and clasp on my cloak, Sarah called to me, “Come on, Heather! We’re almost to the water stop!“ My reverie was broken. I concentrated on the task at hand.

We wove through the course as an accordion. The four of us ran side by side when possible, and in single file line when bicyclists or speedier runners threatened our peaceful morning with a collision. My muscles groaned in protest and my breath became rhythmic to match our pace. It would take around three miles before the pain in my side would pass. Sarah and Linden led the way. Alison and I followed. Alison bounded in place beside me with more energy than I could muster, her paced slowed to accommodate mine. We spoke of the Lord’s provision for our families. We shared of how God had revealed himself to us over the previous week. Linden had been blessed by an opportunity to teach English in Germany and was preparing to move. Alison was pursuing medical mission opportunities abroad. Sarah and Linden had recently finished graduate school and were working on thesis projects. Sarah had been blessed by a new position at work, as Assistant to the Elders. Listening to my companions share their hopes and dreams, I praised God for the blessings he had provided. On our long runs, we analyzed the deeper theological meanings of Harry Potter, Bodies’ exhibits, and space monkey polls, and six degrees of separation with Kevin Bacon. We motivated each other with thoughts of cinnamon toast and watermelon soup as rewards. Our feet fell into a rhythm as we shared our hopes, dreams, and blessings with each other.

As the miles wore on, the four of us shouted encouragements at one another and by-passers. “Come on, Linden!” Sarah would cry. “Way to book it, Alison!” Linden called out. “Good morning!” Alison greeted a lady walking her dogs. “Just a little further…just 3 more miles!” I cried, adding to the excitement. Knowing that 4 miles were tucked under the proverbial hydration belt, allowed a certain understanding that the last 3 could easily come in stride.

As the run progressed, our pace slowed and our speech ceased. Talking wasted too much energy. Alison’s bounding was subdued, her energy ebbed by the distance of our run. The sun had risen to its full glory and beat mercilessly upon our brows. The breeze that once welcomed our journey now opposed us and slowed our pace. The very hills that we had sped down earlier now rose against us. My feet dragged, and my muscles protested further movement. “Just one more mile!” Alison chimed. One more mile. What was that when 6 were behind us? Suddenly, we all began speaking encouragements to each other, prodding ourselves forward. The speech that had robbed our energy earlier were now all that kept us going. “Come on ladies!” Half a mile was all that was left. Shouting encouragements over our shoulders, we broke into a full run and sprinted as quickly as we could to the finish line.

Joyful that we had completed our exertion, we served each other water and Gatorade. After, we returned to the stretching rock for a cool down. Our bodies were strengthened by the run and our fellowship was strengthened by our encouragements. Raising my face towards the sun, I silently praised God for providing me with the chance to greet the dawn.

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Photo by Sarah Austin

Fourth of July Folies: Young Adults Gather for Fun, Frisbee, and Fireworks

by Heather Myer

When I was a child, my parents used to celebrate the Fourth of July by watching fireworks on the television and microwaving hotdogs. At the time, they simply said that they did not want to fight the crowds at Firefall and that waiting in long lines for port-a-potties never made for fun times. Rebelling, I would steal away to my bedroom, read the Declaration of Independence and sing the Star Spangled Banner over lit candles. An odd sense of jealousy consumed me on the fifth of July when my friends sported super snazzy glow in the dark bracelets and bragged of setting off bottle rockets without parental supervision. I vowed that when I was a parent, my children would have fireworks year round, long lines for the facilities or no.

As a young adult, I have completely disregarded my parents’ cautious approaches to Independence Day. I wildly attend Firefall and the I Love America celebrations with my friends as often as possible in Springfield. One year, my friends and I set off our own fireworks on the outskirts of Republic and had quite the jolly time refining our pyromaniac prowess.

As Independence Day drew near this year, I wondered what fun times were in store for me. The answer came during a Springfield Cardinal’s game as roughly seven of LifePoint’s young adults congregated around two community snow cones: hang out at Mark Pitchford’s home. It was perfect. Mark had a grill, a cozy living room, a spacious lawn, and perhaps the most important item of all, a neighborhood swimming pool.

LifePoint’s young adults gathered at the Pitchford residence at roughly three in the afternoon for a lazy afternoon of feasting on watermelon, cherries, and sweets. Andrea provided sugar cookies in the shapes of stars, shooting rockets, and Liberty Bells for the occasion, and we all contributed money to a fund for community groceries. While Heather, Andrea, Sunshine, Mary, and Amber purchased dinner, the others played frisbee in the front yard. There were too many participants in the frisbee game to be contained by the lawn, so we increased our territory and took over the vast majority of the street. Frisbee tossing is an exact science. One must calculate the intensity and direction of the wind, as well as one’s personal capability to throw with accuracy. In my case, I always have to consider the position of the person I am throwing to and aim 2 people to the left in order to reach my intended target. Our frisbee game changed a bit from catching the plastic saucer to tallying how many of our cars we could accidentally hit. It was quite enjoyable.

The ladies returned with groceries and the rest of us peaked into the sacks to discover a Mexican feast. An assembly line of chefs prepared our meal: The ladies assembled cheese and chicken between tortillas, Dallas brought the plate to Matt and Mark for grilling, and the rest of us finished off the final results. Soon, we were treated to chips and salsa, grilled beef and chicken quesadillas, refried beans, taco salad, and fresh fruit. During the food preparation, I soon discovered that there were too many cooks in the kitchen, so I joined Geno, Bryant, and Jon for card games. I relived the joys of Go Fish and discovered how to play Egyptian Rat Screw, of which the purpose is to possess all the cards in your hand by the end of the game. A card may be sandwiched with two cards of the same number and then whoever smacked the pile first would gain possession of the discarded pile. Amy and Paul joined our game by slapping at the pile while the rest of us idled, oblivious to the repeated numbers. The boys taught me three important lessons: it hurts to have your hand smacked, never lay your cards face-up on the table, and avoid practicing a poker face, no matter how innocent your intentions may have been.

After dinner, the group gathered in the back yard for a sparkling streamer ribbon routin contest. Mary, Sunshine, and Andrea judged as some of us performed clever skits. Jon and Paul reenacted Wind and Water and were awarded Most Creative. Amber pranced around Heather, and though she seemed unphased and unmoved by Amber’s dance, Amber persisted. Soon, Heather was inspired by Amber’s creativity and joined her frolicking. They were awarded with Most Bootylicious. Amy and I appealed to the judges by singing“You Are My Sunshine” and offering a cheer for Andrea. Our efforts earned the title of Best at Brownnosing.

It was now early evening and the sun became less intense. Our group gathered at the pool for splashing in the water, rounds of Marco-Polo, and creative diving by the men. We observed pair diving, pair diving with ribbon, cannon balls, belly flops, artistic water entries, individual diving with ribbon, and end of the pool races. It was a refreshing way to spend the last remaining rays of sun. After drying, we parted into smaller groups to seek out fireworks.

Mark, Paul, Jon, Jeff, Sunshine, Amy, Andrea, and I joined the Gibbons family and Ravonne in the Furniture Row parking area to observe the I Love America celebration. Once we laid our blankets and lawn chairs down on a blocked road, we began calling out names for the explosions and humming along with the choir. We prefaced our titles with clever beginning phrases, “I call that one Wind and Water” or “I name that one Istanbul (is not Constantinople).” Though I cannot now recall many of the names we suggested, it provided us with several moments of entertainment. We fell silent, awed by the spectacular array of lights against the black sky. As the celebration ended, we rushed back to our respective cars, and soon my car joined the stillness of a long line of traffic. Alone for the first time that evening, I became keenly aware of the silence and serenity of the night. I praised God for blessing me with life, liberty, and good friends with whom to pursue my happiness.

Bless a Family: Young Adults Deliver Gifts to Local Family

by Heather Myer

Our collective gifts offering looked quite impressive beside Heather and Dallas’s fireplace. Paul, Heather, Dallas, and I gathered our community group’s collected Christmas offering and put it in the back of Heather G’s car as we chatted about our workweeks and plans for the holidays. My family is in California, and this is my first holiday season without them. For Thanksgiving, I was so incredibly blessed as several friends and co-workers adopted me during the week of Thanksgiving. I made off with not one, but seven Thanksgiving dinners! Christmas was looking a bit bleaker, yet I knew that God would provide.

The previous month, Paul and I had delivered a Thanksgiving meal to the Travers, but this night I had forgotten bits of how to get to their home. Luckily, he knew exactly which directions to follow. I am easily lost, so I was glad he came with us. As we left the city limits and drove out into the country, I noticed the stars were visible against the dark sky, and we gazed in awe at them. I have not seen the stars since my family sold our property last spring, and the stars are simply not visible against the Springfield city lights. We reflected on the beauty of God’s creation, and soon, we approached the road leading to the Travers' home. Trees barren of leaves lined the gravel road that twisted before us.

At the house, we gathered our gift offerings and tentatively knocked on the Travers’ front door. A small girl with long dark hair darted out, without socks or slippers on her feet. She gave us a shy smile and then looked up at me and said, “I remember you!” She hugged me around my waist as I danced to keep the packages from falling. “Hello, Deb!” I replied and returned her hug. We entered the warm home and saw a man and a boy watching TV. My mind immediately went blank, but Heather G. saved the moment, greeting each person in the room by their first names. Heather’s social graces never fail to impress me. She only knew the family by e-mail, yet she knew their names by heart when she met them for the first time in person. “Gerald, how’s it going?” “And you must be Shane!” she said to a petite 18-year-old girl who was knitting a stocking in the corner of the room. The four of us went back to the car for another armload of presents, and we placed them on the floor beside a small gathering of presents. The family did not have a tree.

We had an enjoyable time with the family. Dallas spoke with the father, Paul with Gerald, and Deb and the Heathers admired Shane’s stocking. Shane looked as if she had barely turned 14, and she told us that she was from Florida and that her parents divorced and that she is living with her mother and stepfather. Gerald and Deb are from their father’s prior marriage and the three of them have been together almost a year now. Shane had created an impressive stocking and showed us a ski cap complete with snowflakes! Heather immediately ordered two stockings and ski caps and offered a generous sum in return. I was again impressed by HG’s kindness and genuine spirit. I also ordered mittens from Shane.

The children shared their pets with us: two dogs, nine cats, and two geckos, and we were impressed by the multitude of their animals. The cats were each named after a seasoning: Basil, Sage, Marjoram, etc. while the geckos were dubbed such names as Honey Bear and Baby Doll. The dogs were labeled Scooter and Clifford. It humored me. Paul took Deb aside and asked her if she had painted the landscape painting behind the couch. Deb blushed and shook her head. She then tugged his sleeve and pointed at a watercolor on the refrigerator. Paul acted amazed at her artistic abilities and begged Deb to paint one for him. She blushed and quickly shook her head and shyly dashed behind her brother.

Dallas offered up a Christmas prayer for the family. The girls gave us all hugs and Gerald and Mr. Travers shook our hands. Before I turned to leave, Shane and Deb tugged at my sleeve. “Heather, are you a doctor?” I was still wearing my scrubs from work and my stethoscope was peaking out of my lab coat. I smiled and knelt down beside the girls. “No, I’m a nurse.” “Oh, well, could you please, if it wouldn’t be too much trouble, could you please wish all the new babies at the nursery a Merry Christmas from me and Deb?” I was touched. I smiled and nodded, accepting her Christmas tidings. How sweet a request! Neither of the girls had on slippers or jackets, and both shivered in the cold and huddled near me for warmth. Deb threw her arms around my shoulders and whispered in my ear, “You are a nice lady. Thank you.”

I fought to keep back the tears that welled up as I returned to the car to join the Gilions and Paul. Once I was safe in the darkness of the night, I felt a tear trickle down my cheek. I realized that I truly was blessed as a child and that this very evening was God’s Christmas present to me. I meekly thanked Paul, Dallas, and Heather for joining me and said a silent prayer for the dear, sweet children. We were all silent on the way home as we reflected upon the evening, but after a few moments I broke the silence by proclaiming, “They thought I was a doctor!” The others turned to me, amused. “It was the stethoscope. It does it every time!” said I with a smile. I reflected on how very kind our Lord is and how dear the fellowship I have joined at LifePoint has become to me. The thought warmed me as we parted ways; I hardly noticed the bitter cold.

Young Adults Volunteer at Springfield Victory Mission

by Heather Myer

I have helped with Victory Missions for two years, and each time the Lord blesses me much more than I could ever hope to bless another. The previous three times I had helped with a food drive, they were short on volunteers to help load groceries into cars. It isn't a hard job, but it does require lifting and is a nice workout. I was a bit nervous and I didn't know how many volunteers to expect. Most people I had spoken to were either noncommittal or had other plans for the morning. We had to work out in the cold in 30-degree weather and arrive at 7:30 on a Saturday morn.

I arrived at the site with a breakfast offering of Panera bagels and hot chocolate, and at first, I didn't see anyone I knew. Pallets containing grocery sacks, boxes of hams, and bags of potatoes were scattered on either side of a driveway, and several men were breaking down cardboard boxes a distance away from me. These men were aided by VM, and it warmed my heart to meet some of those we were helping serve. A man with a familiar face waved from a distance and walked over to greet me. Paul, quite disguised by several layers of clothing and devoid of his glasses, had been helping the men take apart the boxes. I was impressed by his punctuality, as the time had just reached 7:30. He had brought a friend from college named JT to help. The thing about SBU is that it is so small that college-mates might not have personally known each other at the time of attending school, but we can easily recognize each other’s presence several years after graduating. We share a kind of special bond based on our Alma Mater’s uncanny use of purple on every surface imaginable (and I do mean every--from dorm phones to hand rails) and the fictional mascot of a bearcat. Such was the case with JT.

My good friend, Kendra and her boyfriend, Kyle, arrived shortly afterwards, and the five of us huddled around the bagels and hot cocoa, hoping to stay warm. Soon, the cavalry arrived. Three cars pulled into the driveway and Jon Goings, Dallas and Heather Gilion, Sam and Rachel Pate, Andrea and her friend Wendy, Bryant Fletcher, and Tiffany Blackwell joined our huddle around the bagels and cocoa. A van full of 20 youth also arrived from Cherry Street Baptist Church to help with the efforts.

Anne, the VM coordinator, gathered our groups and the men from VM. We were told to find a position and man it. When a delivery car pulled into the driveway, a number signifying the quantity of families to be helped was put on the dashboard. Each family received a ham and two grocery sacks (containing a cake mix, frosting, nuts, powdered milk, fruit, eggs, bread, corn, green beans, rolls, and other items that I have long since forgotten).

Soon, a stream of cars arrived, and because most other areas were manned, I mainly helped the men with the hams (the boxes contained 4 hams, with a combined weight of 40 lbs). Jon and Dallas helped dole out potatoes and hams, and the youth delivered grocery bags to the cars while the rest of our group set up grocery sacks and filled them with food. When I grew weary of hams, I helped our group on the other side of the drive. It was such fun! We formed an assembly line to speed up the process: First, Paul unfolded grocery sacks like nobody’s business. (Sam commented on this, and Paul replied, “I have gone to college for nine years to do this very job!”) I picked up a sack and twisted to allow Sam to drop a package of orange juice into my bag. Rachel then took my bag and passed it to Heather, who placed bread in it. Tiffany put fruit in it and then passed it to Wendy, who put eggs in it. Andrea then picked up the bag and raced in attempts to beat JT and Bryant to the cars. If they did not get to a car before the others, they might have to carry the bag back to the pallets without depositing it, which wasn’t very productive.

We had quite a bit of fun with our assembly line, and at times, we all lined up and picked up grocery sacks and handed them off to one another for the sake of moving them 10 yards down the driveway; it helped us stay warm and easily provided entertainment. At other times, we would become overeager in our attempts to race each other or stay warm, and more than once, I grabbed too many hams (six or seven) in my eagerness and had to ask Dallas or Jon to help hoist them in the back of a pick-up truck when I could not lift them myself. In another instance, Andrea had lost her grip on her second grocery sack and Paul reached out to save her bag while keeping hold on two of his own. We had a very good system of teamwork.

We ran out of hot water for cocoa about 10 o’clock, and by that time, the bagels had lost their warmth and had become icy feeling; however, the sun peeped from behind the clouds and warmed us. Along with the sunshine and my hefty boxes of ham, I was able to shed my jacket and freely dash to deposit food in cars. It was such fun! It astounds me to think that something so small as carrying ham or placing eggs in a grocery sack can lead to establishing deeper friendships and providing fellowship, even in the wee hours of a Saturday morn. God is so very good. We were able to form relationships with the men from VM, the youth group, and the kind people who generously dedicated their time to delivering the food. We finished around 11 a.m. and went our separate ways. In all, we were able to help 750 families in Springfield to have a Christmas feast. Again I say our Lord is so very good!

Girl Time in KC: LPC Ladies Travel to Beth Moore Conference

by Heather Gilion

On 9 September 2005, some of the ladies from LifePoint Church, packed their bags and headed for Kansas City. For some, it was quite a sacrifice. They kissed their husbands and kids goodbye, left their jobs early, and gave up a relaxing weekend at home to leave time with "the girls." But all those sacrifices became a blur as we approached our destination. Those who had never been to a Beth Moore Conference probably couldn't fathom all they were in for, but those who had witnessed the power of the Word proclaimed through this woman anticipated life-changing, God-transforming moments.

Smiles crossed our faces as we headed down the road. Giggles filled the vans as I heard many moms breathing out sighs of relief as they felt a little free from life's responsibilities. The giggles grew as they imagined what their husbands might make for dinner. Friendships were established as strangers became immediate companions on this journey. I loved stepping outside of the circle for a moment and witnessing what God was doing. The unity was beautiful. We were celebrating the simple joy of one another's company. It was—in its truest form—girl-time! We could talk about anything our little hearts desired … and we did.

By the time we arrived, settled in, and had a quick bite to eat at the Cheesecake Factory (are your mouths watering) we headed towards Kemper Arena. The lines were long and some of the women were ruthless as we struggled to find seats together, but all the frustrations of the moment quickly faded away as the music sounded and our conference was fully underway. Although we were all from every which way, there was still much in common, as Beth pointed out, “estrogen, the color pink, and Capri pants.” Worship was sweet as the voices of 15,000 women filled the arena. It was the sound of a mighty choir joining in one voice in adoration to their Savior, their Lord, and their Friend. I wondered many times what God must be thinking, how he must have been savoring the moment.

Beth Moore took her time as she laid before us what we'd be diving into. There was no mistaking the fact that God was there and he had a word for us. He wanted us to come face-to-face with fear! At first many of us had the same reaction, “I'm not afraid.” But the Lord used Beth to illuminate the areas in our lives that say otherwise. She said, “Fear can single-handedly rob us of the fullness of his promises.”

What are the areas that we live out of fear and not out of our belief? She said, “Fear is a manifestation of unbelief—an emotional outburst of unbelief.” When do we not believe God can do what he says he can do? When do we not believe God is who he says he is?

God challenged us in that moment. He asked us if we wanted to be free! Habakkuk 3 was his challenge:

“The Lord God is my strength [my personal bravery, and my invincible army], he makes my feet like hinds' feet and will make me to walk [not to stand still in terror, but to walk], and make [spiritual] progress upon my high places [of trouble, suffering, or responsibility]!” Habakkuk 3:19 (amplified version)  

A woman's greatest fear is a loss of relationship. A man's? Failure. What was God revealing as our greatest fear? What is yours? Some of us have experienced the picture that Psalm 23 beautifully displays. We have walked through the valley of the shadow of death, but we have feared no evil because he was with us! But when we are in that valley it is hard sometimes not to fear. It is hard not to let the circumstances of life make us cower under pressure, but he is faithful and speaks to our very souls that he is as near as our skin and he is indeed with us. We can believe he is who he says he is, and he can do all that he says he can do! Psalm 23 reveals that he doesn't always rescue us from the valley, but he does promise that he's there with us, walking with us, carrying us if need be.

Beth said, “Faith is not denying reality. It acknowledges that God can change our reality.” She helped us examine three areas in our lives where the enemy commonly gets us to fear, which hold us back from making spiritual progress. Those areas are trouble, suffering, and responsibility. Life is full of all three, and sometimes we find ourselves in all three at once!

Trouble may have become our reality because of consequences to our own actions or maybe from other's actions, but when we find ourselves in trouble, fear is quick to entangle us from all sides as we struggle to know what to do now!

And then there's suffering—we are desperate, hurting, calling out to God for answers, for help! Maybe its physical, maybe it's emotional, maybe it's financial, maybe we've lost someone who meant the world to us. Whatever suffering we may find ourselves in, it's real, and it's easy to fear tomorrow.

The final area that can keep us from our spiritual high places is that of responsibility. We're overwhelmed with duty, with family, with positions at work, and with relationships. We live in fear of what could happen—how we might fail others or ourselves. In our conference, she had us stand in response to those three: trouble, suffering, or responsibility. Our hearts broke for others that stood. By their tears you could sense that many were carrying quite a load. An overwhelming amount of women stood overloaded with responsibility.

As we left that night, she encouraged us to think on the everyday fears that bombard our minds and what scares us most. We climbed in our vehicles and waited to get out of the parking lot. I know what you men are thinking, “Aaah!! All those women drivers!” And I'd have to say, yes, it was quite a scene.

Although it took over an hour to get to our hotel, it gave us time to communicate what God was speaking to our hearts. In our van we shared our thoughts and our fears; in our vulnerability, we disclosed our hearts. It made the time bearable as we waited for our turn to move an inch.

The next morning we arrived to begin the healing process! So how could we leave free? How could we live in total belief and not let the enemy taunt us when we're weak? We were all so hungry to experience this freedom; we became like sponges soaking up all that we could in those next few hours. She spoke on those three areas pouring Scripture over our hearts. We laughed, we cried, we wrote down these truths as quickly as our pens would move. She taught us how to “Take Courage!” God is more than willing to give us his (Matt. 14:27). She showed us who is in charge, displaying our “personal bravery and [our] invincible army.”

As women, we have worry down! We do it well and we do it often. It is a stronghold for most of us. She said, “If worry would keep loved ones well … worry! If worry could keep our teenagers safe … worry!” But we all know the verse, “And which of you by worrying can add a single hour to his life's span?” (Luke 12:25)

Could we be freed up from our own fear of death? Paul cured that by saying, “I died already … with Christ!” (Col. 2:20).

Could we be freed up from one of our biggest fears—being unloved? First John 4:18 speaks to this fear: “Perfect love drives out fear.”

I can't speak for all the ladies, but I left knowing that God is madly in love with each of us and that his desire and plan for our lives is for us to make that spiritual track on our high places—experiencing him in real and supernatural ways. Believing him could be the very key to putting to rest all my fears that are keeping me and have kept me from journeying up the mountain with feet like hinds' feet.

Could I roam higher? Could I run faster? Could I experience more of him? That is his promise to each of us! And his Word was clear that day and the challenge still remains. Will I simply place it in my pile of sermon notes that were good, or will I take it in and let it change my response to things such as where my mind goes, what I dwell on, and how I view God? Will I simply take this seed of truth and devour it and say, “That was good!” Or will I take the seed and plant it in my heart and wait to reap a harvest? Beth's words were a challenge to us, but it was God's voice that resounds in my mind—higher.

We returned, and before a week had passed Lori O'Dell called on us to come together and talk about all that God had revealed to us that weekend. We all desperately wanted to plant this seed deep within our hearts. I wish you all could have eavesdropped that night. We were sharing our fears and believing God for freedom at last. Husbands, your wives were giving you over to God. Children, your moms were giving you over to God. Friends and family, we were giving you over to God. We need not fear what tomorrow brings. We simply need to believe he is who he says he is. He can do what he says he can do. And our Perfect Love will be our personal bravery to experience the high places. In our hearts we were catching a glimpse of what “higher” meant.