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Posted in Poverty
by Jeff Goins
on 5/10/2008
I surprised my mom yesterday by driving an hour and a half to see her, taking her out to lunch for an early Mother's Day celebration, and giving her a giant, singing, Spanish card. I don't think very highly of most American holidays, and that includes Easter and Christmas. They've just run their toll on me; Mother's Day has the same effect. Why would I want to give my mom a gift on the day that everyone else is giving their mom a gift?
Okay, I know that for many it's more than that, but for me, it mostly feels like obligation, so whenever possible, I try to do my best to redeem a holiday. That is, I try to re-imagine it, do it a little differently, and see if I can not just go through the motions, but really bless someone and make them feel special. I think yesterday had that effect on my mom.
This Mother's Day, I encourage you to do something different, like giving money to those who don't have any moms.
Check this out from Ericka Bennett:
As Mother's Day draws near, I am reminded of my own mom, and all the ways
she took care of me throughout the years. So many of us are blessed
with loving mothers whom we want to honor on Sunday, the special day set
aside just for them.
But this year, my mother is not the only one who comes to mind. I am haunted by the knowledge that in Swaziland,
there are thousands of mothers that were taken too soon by AIDS and
poverty, leaving over 130,000 orphans alone.
Give a gift to orphans in honor or in memory of your Mom here
My heart broke as I read
the following from Lisa Black, an incredible mother who has a heart for these precious orphans:
Maternal
instinct is a powerful thing; I still check on my all my kids in the
middle of the night (even the ones that are taller than me!), and I
think about the Children of the Dirt all the time.The
same way I awaken with a start, wondering who in my home has kicked off
their covers and might be cold, I awaken several times a night, and
wonder what the community of Nsoko is facing today. I often think we are so arrogant to think that our children would never
be in that situation. Sometimes, I think "what if..." What if something
did happen in our country: a plague, a war, a catastrophic event. What
if we were all gone, except Noah, the baby of our family, or the baby
or your family? What if our five year-old prince was suddenly alone on
this earth? No parents, grandparents, brothers or sisters, just little
Noah walking around vulnerable, alone, searching for food, exposed to
the elements, scared, and prey for predators.
 Would
someone who did not know him take him in, feed him, love him and
protect him, simply because God commanded them to? Would a stranger
make a sacrifice to save my baby?
See, my motives here? They are all somebody's babies; they could be yours. We can all do something, no matter how big or how small.
It matters to them...
This Mother's Day, please remember the thousands of mothers taken too soon from
Swaziland, and their children in desperate need of loving care.
Give a gift to The Nsoko Project in honor or in memory of your Mom. It is the most priceless and lasting gift you can give!
Click Here to Give to the Nsoko Project
I am sending this story to share with my Mom. Feel free to do the same for yours.
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Posted in Poverty
by Jeff Goins
on 5/9/2008
Continued from When God Closes a Door... On Your Fingers (Pt. 2)
The landlord explained that he
knew Michelle, that she just up and left maybe two to three months ago.
I couldn't believe it; I knew that she was unhappy with her landlord,
but she had always told me that she planned to stay at least until the
summer to finish out her lease.
Instantly, I was scared for her. It was March, and she
was due to go into labor some time that month. Where was she? With her
mother? Shacking up somewhere else? Or worse... I shuddered at the
consideration of a pregnant woman and those kids on the streets, but it wouldn't have been anything I hadn't seen before.
Instantly, I was
plagued with guilt. Was this the result of some act of negligence on my
part? Should I have gone back sooner? As I thought about what the
landlord had said - that they had been gone for at least two or three
months - I realized that must have meant that Michelle left shortly
after our visit to the zoo, maybe the same week as our wedding.
Joel and I tried to find Michelle's mother's house, since the landlord
told us that she may have moved in with her mom who lived down the
street. Desperately, we knocked on every door we could find, but I knew
it was useless. I remember a small voice I had heard back in January, a
voice that I had ignored, a voice that was ringing true in my head
right now.
"Let it go," was the phrase that popped into my mind one afternoon
right before I married Ashley. I was praying for Michelle, and I heard
those words in my mind as clear as day: let it go, Jeff.
Are you serious, Lord? I wondered if my mind was playing tricks on me.
I shared the thought with a friend, and she thought it sounded absurd
that God would be telling me let go of a relationship. A few weeks
later, I prayed and got the same answer.
It was very odd, and I didn't believe it. Yet, as I was standing at
that door, listening to this man tell me that this friend of mine had
taken off very close to the same time I heard those words in mind, I
surrendered to what they mean. I was faced with the fact that the Lord
was fulfilling what I had always promised Michelle - that he would be
her provider, not me. And that was hard to face.
I still struggle with feeling like we abandoned Michelle, like maybe I
could have done more, but I can't hang on to what I am able to do in
the flesh. Not when God works in the spirit. No, I have to hold onto a
voice that told me something a little imprudent, but completely true. I
needed to let this whole thing go. I had grown much more codependent
than I realized and derived a great deal of my worth from the things I
did for the poor.
I shared this story with a friend of mine, who eagerly passed it onto
his family that evening. Over dinner, he told the story as best he
could remember it, and his young daughter responded without any probing questions, "Daddy, do you think God made that woman move so that someone besides Jeff could have a chance to bless her?" He
only smiled and nodded.
I must learn to do the same.
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Posted in Justice
by Jeff Goins
on 5/8/2008
The following is from the God's Politics blog:
Journalist
Andrew Breitenberg traveled from South Africa to Zimbabwe to gather
firsthand accounts of the violence perpetrated by supporters of Robert
Mugabe (ZanuPF) against opposition supporters (MDC). The stories and
photos he gathered are graphic and disturbing, but they are important
documents in expressing the depth of the crisis there and the vital
need for resolution.
 Tandi,
Kotwa, Mudzi North province:
Four of us were walking together and we saw the ZanuPF Youth
approaching. We ran but they caught me and forced me to the water. "You
have to surrender your information to us. You are a son of ZanuPF. We
baptize you in the name of ZanuPF."
I was drowning. My mind started to go dark as I prayed to God.
I do not know what happened but suddenly the men holding me under the
water were gone and my feet found the ground. I lay on the bank of the
river coughing and choking. My friends found me and took me to Harare
in a man's car.
We are punished because we do not accept ZanuPF as God. This is
why we are punished. Many days in a row we go without food. Sometimes
we are forced to drink standing water. They take. They burn Zimbabwe.
We are dying.
+ Download Andrew's full report (warning: graphic images)
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Posted in Poverty
by Jeff Goins
on 5/8/2008
A week after dropping off the Christmas presents, some friends and I
took Michelle's kids Rodney and Rodneisha to the zoo and then out for
dinner at McDonald's. They acted out a little bit more than we were used to them acting in the house, but that is to be expected, I guess. Once we were at the zoo, they fit right in with the rest of the animals. However, it was all in good fun, and it was great to give Michelle a break.
More than anything, I noticed that the kids just wanted to be touched. I even got to hold little Rodney's hand... except when he was acting tough. It was a blessing to be able to spend
some time loving on these beautiful children. We dropped them off at their mom's, and she was a little tired, but grateful. We said goodbye and told them we loved them.
And that was the last we ever saw them.
 Ashley and I got
married in January and had a wonderful honeymoon. After returning home from North Carolina, I would occasionally
tell Ashley, "We should go visit Michelle."
Alas, the time-consuming
task of settling into a new home distracted us from our friend. We
trusted that she was doing well, even though her due date was quickly
coming. To my surprise, a month went by without our even realizing it.
The pressures of work, marriage, and building a new life consumed us.
One
day, I thought about Michelle and decided that we really needed to
visit her and the kids again soon. We kept talking about it for another
two weeks before we actually did anything.
Ashley baked some cookies,
and we drove over to their house after church one Sunday to drop them
off. We knocked and knocked, but no one answered the door. We looked
around, shrugged, and left, spending the afternoon at the mall.
Two
weeks after that, my friend Joel and I dropped by to see Michelle. We got out of the car, walked up to the door and knocked. No answer. There were a bunch of envelopes stuffed into the mailbox. I knocked again, as I did so, a white man (who was as out of place in that neighborhood as we were) stopped us and asked, "Can I help you?"
"No, thanks. We're fine," I said as I continued to knock on the door to no avail, wishing this guy would mind his own business.
"Well,
I own this building," he said. Instantly, I remembered all the cruel
things Michelle had told me about this man. "And no one has lived here
for two months," he told me.
To be continued (this next one will be the last, I promise)...
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Posted in Poverty
by Jeff Goins
on 5/7/2008
I am, technically, a missionary. I raise support, work for a non-profit, and send people around the world to fulfill the Great Commission. But, I also sit in a big leather chair (at least, I think it's leather), typing away at a laptop most of the day, with little human interaction (except for emails and phone calls). On my best days, I feel like I'm playing out the role that has been assigned to my "part" of the Body of Christ. On my worst days, I feel like a hypocrite.
 I sensed a deep need within myself to connect with people outside of cyberspace a little less than a year ago. I realized that even if I wore the hat of "missionary" or had some fancy title at a missions agency, that I still had a personal mandate to share Christ with other flesh-and-bone human beings. So, I started volunteering regularly at the Nashville Rescue Mission and even began a local outreach ministry to the homeless community. Some of you that read this blog actually contribute to that ministry (click here if you're interested in hearing more about that.)
Many relationships have started as a result of that ministry. I've done my best to balance my "office" time and my "hands-on" ministry, but it's been difficult. At varying times, I've felt like I've neglected one for the other. Today, I'm wondering if I spent too much time sitting behind a computer and not enough time asking God how he could use me more. You see, I'm plagued with what happened to a friend of mine.
Last October on a food delivery run, I met a single mother named Michelle. She was pregnant. She was alone. She was poor. I never even knew her last name. When it was easiest for me, I would visit her, often bringing groceries or some goodies for her and her two children. We laughed, cried, and prayed together.
Early last December, I knocked on her door with a Christmas tree. She was blown away, and it felt great to share such a blessing with her. Two weeks later, I pulled up to her house with a car full of Christmas presents. Again, it was a pleasure to bless her like this and tell her that it wasn't me, my friends at Franklin Fellowship Church, or any other person that was providing for her. It was God.
It was her Father, using the Body of his Son to do his will on earth as it is done in heaven. Any time she would express gratitude for what we were doing, I would quickly inform her that this was God, that he was her Provider and that she could trust in that. Little did I know that the Lord was going to teach me that same lesson through this woman and her family.
To be continued...
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Posted in Creating a Counter-Culture
by Jeff Goins
on 5/6/2008
Over a year ago, I posted an article
on the Ooze on how we ought to destroy our televisions and start living
the lives God intended us to live. Now, to say that this blog was contentious is an understatement. It led to some serious tension between my girlfriend and me. She appreciated winding down after a hard day's work in front of her favorite show "Wheel of Fortune." I tried to appreciate that, but I was a bit narrow-minded and judgmental.
 One of my best friends heartily agreed with my thoughts on Christians abandoning their TV's and living more fulfilling lives. His wife, however, disagreed, and this led to a fight between them. I remember calling him, and he would regularly find a way to work in the fact that they weren't watching TV. I realized that he probably felt judged by me or like some kind of moral failure if he gave into an evening of Gray's Anatomy.
So, I took a few steps back and re-examined my views. Perhaps, I was a bit narrow-minded. I did feel pretty strongly that I needed to write the blog, and it was received by several people who gave powerful testimonies as to how what I wrote moved them to break an addiction that had become a stronghold in their lives. So, I don't regret writing it, but I think it's time to move on.
I've learned a lot this past year - from spending time with the poor to preparing for and entering into marriage -
and I think that I have acquired a little more grace, a little less restlessness, and
a little more contentment with simple things.
My
TV still lives, but I think that's okay. My wife and I occasionally
enjoy a night in front of the TV - we order a pizza, watch a movie, and
relax. I've learned that this is not only all right; it's necessary. We
need to rest. And sometimes, it's not bad to do that in front of the
TV.
But
I've also learned that it's part of my fallen nature to want to run
away - to escape reality - and that's not what God intended when he
promised that he would give us "life to the full" in Jesus. So, as with
anything, this is a two-edged sword.
For awhile, my anti-TV attitude
was a new legalism for me - another burden I tried to place on people.
But now, with a new-found freedom, I've learned that all things can be
lawful... in moderation. My main concern is to not use this little box as an avoidance of true intimacy with my wife.
We enjoy it together, but we could easily justify losing ourselves in it. So, when we
need to talk and "Wheel of Fortune" is negatively contributing to the noise of our
lives, we turn it off and re-connect, maybe praying, cracking open the Bible, or just enjoying silence together.
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Posted in Creating a Counter-Culture
by Jeff Goins
on 5/5/2008
Last year, I wrote a blog called Kill Your TV. It was actually e-published on The Ooze, an electronic hub for post-moderns. It used to be listed on my favorite blogs, but I realized that the topic of bashing your TV to bits as good Christian stewardship was a bit beyond contentious. Out of curiosity, I googled "Kill Your TV" the other day and came across a response to my article that struck me. Again, I'm intrigued by the power of communication and how a simple message, amplified by the power of the internet, can impact so many people. Here's the response from a blog called Organic Faith:
The Ooze (www.theooze.com),
a site for emering Christian leadership, currently has an inspiring
article called, "Kill Your TV." The article makes many good points.
Probably the most significant is that these little black boxes have
a way of sucking up all of our spare time.
Here are some of the things that TVs don't do well. TVs make bad
babysitters. TVs are not a good companion. TVs are not good
teachers. Watching TV is a poor substitute for actually doing
something. Sitting in front of the tube is not a good work out. The TV
makes a poor diet coach. TVs are not good listeners. TV programs are
poor role models. TV shows are substitutes for reality. The TV should
be a limited escape that is routinely abused by many Americans.
I could go on for a long time. I think that you get the point.
Jeff Goins wrote in his TV article, "I know church friends that plan social gatherings around weekly episodes of Lost and call it fellowship. At work, there are discussions of who's going to make it through the first round of American Idol.
Most of us, if we're honest, have been part of these conversations. And
many of us are still searching for that life of abundance that Jesus
promised and wondering why we're coming up empty-handed.
"This is the glue that holds America together. This is our
community. This is how we know each other. And it sickens me. I've
wasted years of my life on this little "harmless" escape from reality.
Now, I could do the nice thing and tell you that there's no inherent
spiritual evil in watching TV. That there's lots of good uses to it,
and you just need to practice better judgment. That you don't need to
go overboard and do anything radical. But I don't want to do that.
"You see, I'm tired. I have this crazy idea that the kingdom of God
was intended to be something more than good Republicans who pay their
taxes and have nice lawns. In the New Testament, I see a band of
unschooled men turning the world upside down. And I want that.
"Yet, I'm still dissatisfied. I want to pursue the life I dream
about. I want to live out my own story, instead of vicariously seeking
one in Jack Bauer. For many, television-viewing is just a distraction.
For others, it is a way to wind down for an hour - not four - every
night. For some, it really is an idol."
Well said Jeff! I agree with your description. TV like anything can
be bad or good depending on how you use it. If we are being honest, the
TV is not the real problem. The real problem is our sinful hearts and
fallen human nature. But the TV is a vehicle that can rob us of God's
best. We have to take authority over our desire to be entertained. If
we can't figure out how to use the TV in a balanced way, maybe we need
to get rid of it. Sometimes the only right move is to put down the
remote, to give away the TV, or to cancel the Blockbuster membership.
That's what I think that I am going to do. I am going to cancel my
Blockbuster Online membership. And I am going to go on a movie fast for
a while. Who knows where this fast will lead. I might even extend it to
other forms of media. I may need to even take extreme measures. I guess
that I could take Jeff's advice and bash my TV with a baseball bat. But
I don't have the guts to commit electronic homicide yet.
Read the rest of the article here: Kill Your TV
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Posted in Wrecked Updates
by Jeff Goins
on 5/3/2008
It's the end of April (as if you needed a newsletter to remind you
of that), and we want to thank you for sticking with Wrecked for
another month of anecdotes, fairy tales, and poetic expressions that
invoke the Christian imagination, provoking us all to incarnate Christ
wherever we may find ourselves. Here's an excerpt from this week's
featured article:
I could hear the
drums. At first I thought my mind and body had decided to team up and play a
trick on me...
The climb had been an exhausting experience, to say the least, and not only the
climb, but also the entire trip itself. We had endured a hot, cramped, six-hour
journey across Ghana
the previous day, and an even hotter, strenuous six-hour hike up its highest
mountain earlier that morning.
Read more in the Adventure section...
In this issue:
Simplicity: Beggars and Thieves: Trying to love like Jesus
Culture: Fair Trade and Ethical Buying within the Clothing Industry
Arts: Poem: The Dump in Manzini
Community: Relational Conflict
Adventure: The Drums of Africa
Poverty: First Steps: Strawberry Chocolate and Broken Glass
We do not seek what is, but rather what should be.
www.wreckedfortheordinary.com
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Posted in Stories from the mission field
by Jeff Goins
on 5/2/2008
This is one of the best stories I've ever read about Africa. From Jamie Finch:
I could hear the
drums. At first I thought my mind and body had decided to team up and play a
trick on me to pay me back for all the hell I had put them through that day.
The climb had been an exhausting experience, to say the least, and not only the
climb, but also the entire trip itself. We had endured a hot, cramped, six-hour
journey across Ghana
the previous day, and an even hotter, strenuous six-hour hike up its highest
mountain earlier that morning.
The sun had just barely set in this tiny, West
African village, but I could feel the darkness kidnap my eyes as I strained to
locate the source of the sound. After finally convincing my companions that
simply sitting and wondering was not an option, we took up on tired feet and set
out on the same dusty road we had walked just hours before - only this time, we
walked as different people.
Our aching legs
shouted not-so-subtle reminders to us of just how much we had put them through
already that day. Our climb had begun earlier that morning when the sun was
still too shy to show itself above the mountains' broad shoulders that towered
above our heads. Even when it finally did made its appearance, however, the
thick mist that clung to the morning air veiled its brilliance - and its heat. For
the latter, we were grateful; for the former, slightly disappointed, that is,
until we learned to appreciate the magical and mysterious quality the fog gave
to the jungle.
As we hiked, we
gained more and more certainty that our guide, Charles, was trusted to lead us
for two reasons. For one thing, the battered flip-flops that barely covered his
feet stood in stark contrast to the mosaic of hiking boots and tennis shoes we
had decorating ours, and spoke of experience. Also, the machete he wielded
forced us to trust him with our lives, whether we really wanted to or not. It
chomped through the thick foliage with an insatiable appetite for destruction -
simultaneously creating and scattering bright green confetti along the drab and
dusty path our parade marched - bringing the appearance of life wherever it
landed.
 For four hours, we
tasted nothing but the water we willingly poured into our mouths and the sweat
that found its way there on its own. With every step, exhaustion threatened to
set in, but the ever-growing sound of the waterfall beckoned us toward our goal
with a promise of rejuvenation unlike any other. When we reached the falls, the
sheer majesty and power of the pure, white cascade commanded our awe. It was
literally larger than life and imagination; beyond any attempt of an accurate
description.
The powerful intimacy of that moment could not be fully expressed,
only intuitively understood in the way it made me finally realize all that
really mattered and all that never did.
I felt so small, yet anything but insignificant. I cried, though not
entirely certain of why. I felt a deep sense of longing to be one with this
creation, but an even deeper sense of longing to be one with the One who
created it and me.
The deafening
nearness of the drums called my thoughts back down from the mountain to the
village road again. We had just been informed of the source of the music - a
church. As we grew closer and closer, my heart began to swell. I slowly
breathed in the cool, night air in an attempt to still my racing heart, but it
was no use. The desire I had felt on the mountain had regrouped, re-strategized,
and returned with a vengeance. I desired to be one
with the music, the drums, the people, the mountain, the water, the joy. I
desired to be one with the Author, Creator, and Perfecter of it all.
My steps fell into line with my heartbeat as we drew closer
and closer to the church. I could hear the rocks and twigs crunching beneath my
feet - tempting me to go faster. All at once, I was running. The Creator -
my Creator -
He was there, in that church. I just knew it. I was drawn to it - to Him - and it
would have been impossible to keep me away.
I raced into the church, leaving my
companions behind, and immediately accompanied the villagers in their dance of
joy and praise that my heart had already been engaged in with them my entire
journey down the road. The vibrant colours and lights that existed there in the
midst of the dark African night swirled in my head as I spun and laughed and
joined in their song. They welcomed me with a deafening applause, identical to
the one the waterfall had ushered me into its presence with earlier that day,
and it was then that I realized that this is what my heart had been missing.
 I realized that
what I desired more than anything in the world was to be united with and
embraced by the universe and everyone and everything in it. But since the
coming and going of that life-altering moment, I have realized many other
things as well. I have realized that not everyone experienced that same mountain-top clarity and peace of purpose that I did.
I have realized that they may never understand. I have realized that for
them, this is real life - as real as it can possibly be - and I have come back to
it. But "back" brings no settled feeling of "home"; simply change. I have
changed and they have changed in my absence. It is neither good nor bad, it
just is; and now, somehow, it all just feels a little forced.
Time does not
always heal, and peace does not always last. Home is not always where you are,
but where you've been - no matter how short the stay. Your heart has been left
behind, because it was captured by the paralyzing reality of grace, peace,
beauty, and love. For me, home is where I met God most intimately - in His
silence and stillness of peace - basking in the overwhelming complexity of His
creation that was made for His glory and my joy. And that joy is what caused me
to forget whether or not there was any other time in my life when I heard my
Beloved's voice any louder or felt more alive.
For me, home is where I can hear
the drums.
Read other great articles at www.wreckedfortheordinary.com.
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Posted in Identity in Christ
by Jeff Goins
on 5/1/2008
I hear Christians say all the time, "It's not about me."
I guess I'm just a little wary of cliches lately, but what exactly does that mean? Those of you who say this, what are you trying to communicate? Some of you answered my question, "Who, then, is it about?" with the answer, "God." (And just to avoid being called a "heretic," I think that's a good answer, but I also think we can allow "it" to be about us in a way that is not self-serving and actually honoring to God.)
 I was just thumbing through some notes I took at a missions training camp and saw that I penned something that Ron Walborn had said in September 2007: "Saying 'it's not about me' is a common phrase, but when I hear that, I just see Jesus on the Cross, saying, 'What do you mean? I did this for you..." He went on to talk about the impact of sin on the spirit, and our need for spiritual formation and healing. Before the Holy Spirit could work through us (which he did that day), we had to admit that the Cross was, indeed, for us.
My challenge as a follower of Jesus of Nazareth comes in realizing that the relationship he has with his Father is the same relationship into which I am invited. We're not just worshipers of some far-off god, but we are actually invited to engage in active relationship with a living deity that constantly lives in community with himself.
So, who exactly did Christ die for, and for what purpose did he lay his life down? To start some cold, cliche-filled institution? Who is the recipient of all this "good news" we talk about? Surely, we have to have some part in the equation. Surely, there is nothing wrong with saying, "I know it's about me, that this gift of your Son was for me... and I thank you."
Such a concession doesn't suggest that we earned anything; it's a gift, but we still ought to receive it with grace and gratitude. Saying, "Oh no... I couldn't accept that" is a form of pride. It communicates the mentality that we ought to be earning the gifts we receive, which is not God's agenda.
God the Father didn't send his Son, because he thought we were doing a fine job with life and wanted to give us a good ol' pat on the back. Nor, did Christ come to just fulfill a promise or to un-break all the broken laws. He didn't even come to teach us how to live. It was a far more intimate exchange than that. Jesus came to die. And he died for a "woman" - the only woman he ever truly loved. The "bride" of Christ: isn't that what we're called?
Jesus died for a woman in a wedding dress... a beauty that was in need of rescue. His sacrifice was the only way she could break free from
prison, and because death could not hold him, they would be joined again... as lovers. Can you imagine his shock and horror if she began to walk down the aisle, stared him in the eyes, and piously said, "It's not about me"?
So, what kind of bride did Jesus die to marry? And who, exactly, is this Gospel for?
A damsel in distress. A prostitute who was tired of her abusive lovers. An unfaithful, broken wife who just wanted to be loved again... who was tired of running away and dodging the love of her husband.
Let's not just awkwardly stare at the pure-white wedding dress and rant about our own unworthiness. Let us - in tears of rapturous joy and beautiful brokenness - put it on and
walk down the aisle.
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