Some Butter

I went to an event on Sunday night that was brilliant in it's simple, attractive method of evangelism.  As you may know, in the past year, I've been trying to push myself and the people around me to tell stories of how Jesus has shown up in our lives within the recent past.  So on Sunday mornings before our worship services, our little pre-game meetings I ask, "Does anyone have a Jesus story"

When these meetings started, it was like pulling teeth to get people to talk.  I know I thought to myself, a lot, "was that really Jesus, or just nice."  But as we kept meeting we started seeing Jesus, the Holy Spirit, and the power of God at work in our lives, in big ways, but also in the small, minute details.  As a result, our meetings are easy now, and we sometimes have to cut people off, so we can start the worship services on time.

The whole purpose of these meetings was to get people to recognize the work of God in their lives, and to start talking about Jesus.  If we talk to each other about Jesus, and make it a regular part of our language with fellow believers, maybe it would become habitual. Maybe it would become part of our everyday, every minute language, so that, maybe, possibly, God would open the ears of someone outside of that fellowship and reveal Himself to someone who doesn't know him, and we could have a great big story to tell some Sunday morning about how God moved in a powerful way in the life of one of our friends, and now we have a new believer.

So back to this event on Sunday night.  PRISM, a ministry in Oakland, where Pitt, CMU and Carlow University are, universities that draw many international students, has an open house every Sunday night, where they serve a $1 dinner and invite foreign students to come and practice speaking English around a table.  This week's dinner was prepared by people from my local church and I was asked to go and eat and talk to someone who speak some very little good English. (see what I did there?)  That's it.  That's all that is expected. 

I remember taking German in high school and realizing the only phrase I could speak pretty well was, "wurtest du das licht an machen." (would you turn on the light)  It reminded me of the Wonder Years when Kevin was daydreaming about Madeline: (the clip is in Spanish, to make things more confusing)

MADELINE: J'ai attendu toute ma vie pour toi.
[Subtitle: I've waited for you all my life.]
KEVIN: Voulez-vous de beurre?
[Subtitle: Do you want some butter?]
MADELINE: A l'instant je t'ai vu, je n'ai su qu'il etait personne d'autre.
[Subtitle: The moment I saw you I knew there was no one else.]
KEVIN: Voulez-vous de beurre?
[Subtitle: Do you want some butter?]
MADELINE: Mon coeur est toute pleine de toi.
[Subtitle: You fill my heart.] [MADELINE fingers her heart necklace.]
MADELINE: J'ai en pensé à toi. (Very unclear pronunciation)
[Subtitle: .. You haunt my mind.]
KEVIN: Voulez-vous de beurre?
[Subtitle: Do you want some butter?]

PRISM gave us 5 questions to talk about.  Our subject matter was "worry." So we discussed what worry is, what you worry about and things like that, so that the student would just be asking if I'd like some butter.

The last question was about the Sunday before, there was no dinner because it was Easter, so we were to talk about what we did for Easter.  I was paired up with a Chinese student who spoke great English, is not a believer in Christ, and asked great questions.  "What's with the eggs?" "What is the traditional meal?" and the swing the door wide open so that the Gospel and its influence in my life can be presented, "If Easter is about Jesus dying, where does the Easter Bunny come in?" 

Fifteen minutes later, he still doesn't believe in Jesus, but he challenged me on what we practice as American Christians, and what it looks like to an outsider.  In those fifteen minutes he learned a little more about the story of salvation through Christ, and that the Hendrickson children know that the Easter Bunny is a fun game, but Jesus' death, and resurrection are real.

Jesus stories.  Look for Him.  Share those stories with the people you know, so that it becomes habit, and you can't help but let the work of the Holy Spirit come flying out of you.

Wrecked

After a month of Beyond, I've been wrecked.  The good kind of wrecked.  God is moving.  He is alive and living in the world today.  He's not just living in the world, but He is living in and through me.  Everything I do, everything I read, everything I see reminds me of His grace.  I've been wrecked.
I got to see a campaign from it's conception in committee, through its manifestation in the church, to it's evaluation back in that committee and through testimony of others, and it just screams "God."  Through that whole process, I've learned to trust.
God has aligned so much for me right now that it is impossible to not see His handiwork.  Beyond, my grove, my accountability group, my housing situation, my Disney timeshare, my personal study time.  It all has lined up as if God is saying, "you have not been experiencing the full goodness of living your life for Me.  But trust Me in this."
The other day, I was talking to my daughters about what they did in Sunday School.  They told me that they put money in the offering, to which I said that they didn't have money.  Their response was that the teachers gave it to them.
It reminded me of being 8 years old and staying over my friend's house on Saturday night and going to church on Sunday morning.  I vividly remember getting into the blue Dodge Caravan, on the passenger's side, (back then, there was no sliding door on the driver's side) with my friend and his two little sisters. Their mother gave us all a small amount of change to put in the offering plate in Sunday School.  We would put it all in and never think about that gift again. I remember thinking that it must have just been those parents teaching us to give.  I know I've heard stories of a relative getting that money from his parents and maybe putting some in the offering bag and pocketing most of it, leaving church and walking to Bruster's to spend what he didn't give. I think that method is a better example of how we actually give.  We take what we think we deserve and give a portion to God and spend the rest on ice cream.
As I've been living life this past few months, I've come up with a better analogy. It's the first one.  The one where the mother gives me 2 quarters, to teach me to give and I put all of it in.
When is that 50 cents mine?  When it leaves her hand and drops into mine?  Does she expect me to give all of it in Sunday School.  If that's the case, is it really my money to give, or am I just the delivery method for this mother to give, while teaching me valuable life lessons?
Years ago we had a stewardship campaign, and while I was never (and still am not) a big fan of asking people for money, I did learn things about stewardship.  I did come to learn that none of this is mine.  It is God's and it is my job to take care of it.  The biggest point Carrie and I got from it was that our children are really not ours, but ours to take care of and raise in a manner that glorifies God.
This summer we moved into a bigger house.  With 5 potty trained people living in our house, we decided that the 5 minute wait for the toilet in the morning was too much for us.  I was always uneasy with this decision. My biggest reason for moving was a stupid inconvenience every morning.  But we found a great house in a fantastic neighborhood at the top of our price range.  Before I made my first new mortgage payment, as I was cutting grass in our new, smaller yard I was preparing for our upcoming Grove (small group) study by listening to Crazy Love, by Francis Chan.  One of his stories was how a man sold his house, gave the proceeds to the church and moved in with his dad.  I thought this was more of God telling me I made the wrong decision to buy the house, that was going to be a larger financial burden on us.  As it turns out, I believe it was a quick reminder that everything we have is God's, we are stewards.
Now, and please do not take this as me bragging, or lifting myself up, this is all Jesus, we use our house as a place to serve the Lord.  Our door is open to our church kids to come and hang out.  If they're there at dinnertime, they eat dinner.  If they need a place to sleep, there's a bedroom ready.  Right as we were ready to make that first new mortgage payment, Beyond came up.  Carrie and I came up with an amount of money that we would set aside for gather, give and serve. It was a number that I thought would hurt, not excruciating pain, but we would definitely be set back by.  In fact, God even put on our hearts to give a little bit more.  We haven't felt a thing.  In fact, two days ago, we learned that we were receiving a gift larger than that amount that we gave for Beyond.
Last week I was standing around before a soccer game, because for NCAA tournament games, they make you show up 2 hours before kick-off, and we somehow got talking about claiming our referee income on our taxes.  Most guys claim it, but are able to show little profit by claiming things like mileage, uniform purchases and so forth.  Some of the things that were in the list of deductions were such stretches I would fear them getting audited.  I am not saying they are evading taxes, but it got me thinking about living a life in Christ. In the same way that we ask, "what can we claim we use for refereeing to pay as little tax possible," "what is it that I can claim as being a tool of serving God?  How am I making the most of what I am, in order to experience the fullness of life in Christ?  If someone were to hear I was a follower of Christ, how would they know looking at my groceries, my automobile, where I spend my time?"
I've heard so many stories of God wrecking peoples lives in the last month.  My hope is that He did it, and they payed attention and kept going the direction He put them.  I know that is my challenge as well.
Grace and peace to you.

Credibility

It seems like I see it in every news article I read now:

• "Said the official, who spoke on condition of anonymity because he was not authorized to speak." I don't get it.

 If I am not authorized to speak and I speak, how is mine a credible account? If I am told not to do something and I do it anyway, is my word any good?

This morning as I was filling up the van with gas, I swiped my card and the screen asked me, "Is this a debit card?" I hate that question. I get it all the time. If I tell the truth, I don't get the rewards of 10¢ <-- (remember that symbol? It means $0.01) per transaction that I signed up for this card to get. No one really cares if I say "no," but I feel like my integrity is diminished by this stupid question.  Yes, it is a debit card, but I want to use it as a credit card.

I've learned in my life to tell the truth. It's always simpler that way. You only have to remember the truth and not the lies that you've told. So, in return, I always expect the truth.

When I ask, what you want for your birthday, I want to know. If you say "nothing," I'll be thrilled and expect that you are satisfied with your life and wish nothing from me.

You walk down the street and see someone that you barely know and they say to you, not really ask you, "What's up," or the dreaded Tobias Funke, "How are you," how do you respond? Is it wrong to respond with a question back? "Do you really want to know, or did you just mean to say, 'hi'?"  I'm the one who would be perceived as rude, but you just asked a question that you really don't want to know the answer to. I feel like most people who ask that question, especially in a passing situation, are just meaning to say, "hi," but for the life of them, they can't kick the habit of asking a question that they don't mean.

I called someone out on this the other day. (I actually believe this person really does care how I'm doing) She often asks how I am and I respond with the truth. The other day, she asked and I told her, "living the dream." This excited her so much that she commented that it's the first time I've responded with a quick positive answer. I told her that I tell her how I am every time she asks, and today I feel like I'm living the dream.

So every time I read the news now, and see "Said the official, who spoke on condition of anonymity because he was not authorized to speak," I have to call into question the credibility of that source. Why is it that they are willing to speak when they are not authorized to? How can I believe them when they've compromised a promise to their authorities that they would not speak? Why won't the stupid gas pump just ask me if I'd like to use my debit card as a debit or credit card? I'd be 50¢ richer every day.  Mean what you say, say what you mean.

Romans 5:12 But above all, my brothers, do not swear, either by heaven or by earth or by any other oath, but let your “yes” be yes and your “no” be no, so that you may not fall under condemnation.

Used

In the last two weeks I've been put on the spot. Both times I was asked by people I highly regard to do something I love to do but not necessarily in public. Both times I was asked to play guitar and sing some songs.
2 weeks ago Aunt Ethel asked me to play a little for the family on the front porch. All I can think about when I'm asked that is, "how awkward is that going to be?" But I did it and loved it. As the Zeilstra family sang old hymns on the front porch of Nirvana Manor, the Spirit moved. He brought this family that lives 1500 miles apart, together in spirit through my slight talent. And I was glad that I was asked to do that, what I assumed would be, awkward thing.
Last night LeBlanc, the guy that heads up the evening services at SafeHouse, asked me to play a little and sing some songs. When LeBlanc speaks, you listen. So I reluctantly sat down in front of around 150 strangers from the streets and sang some songs.
I've played coffeehouses before. I figured it would be just like that. And it was, until...
I was at the park this afternoon getting ready to play games with one of the street kids when a man in his forties came up to me and said, "hey, I was there last night when you played. I enjoyed it a lot. I want to show you my son."
This man then pulled out his phone and showed me all the pictures he had of his almost 1 year old boy. He then opened up to me and told me about his lady friend and his old addictions and where he stays and how he's working to get his boy in his custody instead of the state's.
This man (I do know his name as well as his son's) heard me sing songs and decided that I am someone to share his life with. If only he knew what was going through my head when LeBlanc asked if anyone could lead music and the kids all ratted me out.
So this man, not quite homeless, but not very comfortable either, went out of his way to let me know that he appreciated me. He heard me sing a song about my daughter and figured I would want to hear about his son. And when he told me, I was hooked. His story was very interesting, but more importantly, I felt used.
I'm reading a little about Moses. He didn't want to, he gave God tons of excuses, but he did it.
I'm not very good. 8 years ago I was thrown into this position of leading through song, and I accepted. It is incredible how I've been used through my ministry. Again, I'm not very good, but because I was willing to hear God's call I have been blessed beyond what I ever thought I would be. I'll say it again, I'm not very good, but I know that I will be used.

SHOAtl

I'm back at a place I've learned to love. Atlanta in July. Every 4 years my job brings me to intercity Atlanta to serve the homeless. We serve with an organization called Safehouse. (since I'm only typing this on my phone I will have to just type their website. www.safehouseoutreach.org) Every night of the year, except Thanksgiving, (there is a huge dinner at Turner Field on Thanksgiving) they have a worship service and meal for the homeless of Atlanta.
This is my 5th time working with SHO, and every time I come, I am amazed at the work they do. But every time I come I am also reminded of how fortunate I am.
Tonight during the service, two little girls about 3 and 4 years old were sitting with their mother. The girls just wanted to braid our high school girls hair. These girls live on the street. My daughters are 6 and 4. That's all.
I love my time at Safehouse. I've learned so much. I've talked to some incredible people, both street people and employees. I've learned how to talk to total strangers and show them compassion. I've learned to listen to their stories, because people love to tell their stories. I've learned to look past my prejudices when it comes to street people. They are people, like you, like me, like my kids.
Today at the park, Carrie and I talked to three people. We didn't share The Gospel story with them, but we listened to their jokes and invited them to the service that evening. We laughed with them and valued them. They valued us. (think about that one)
So I ask for your prayers. Pray that God continues to work through SHO. Pray that God will work through this team, this week. And pray that we all be able to see what he wants us to learn.

Color

What's your favorite color? I hate that question. Seems so childish. I can tell you Little's is purple and Middle's is pink. Anytime the kids ask me, my answer is "I have a favorite color scheme." That color scheme used to be black and white with a little bit of royal blue. But as I walk down the hill from doing my favorite job, I look up.
I noticed it the other day as well. Three beautiful, natural colors that go together so well. I don't think I've ever seen it on Küler, or any other place except for the former Carolina Hurricanes jerseys. It's a color scheme that we only get to see about 200 times a year here in SW Pennsylvania.
Remember the old bumper sticker, "if God isn't a Penn State fan, then why is the sky blue and white?" It doesn't matter if you don't, it just popped into my head. I'm not a real fan of any college.
And there it is again, days later. God must really want hockey back in Connecticut.

My Toughest Alleluia

Funny how sometimes I choose songs for Sunday morning.  As I was playing "All Creatures" this morning in the 8:15 service, I remembered the corresponding Sunday last year.
I went into church May 15th, 2011 not knowing what to expect.  I certainly didn't want to lead worship.  I felt I had nothing to offer.  I talked to the pastor and asked what we were going to do and his answer was that we were going to have church.  I didn't want to.  How could I lead worship when that happened?  How could I praise a God that did that to them?  My job is to lead a group of believers to worship the God of the universe and I wasn't sure I could worship him myself.
All creatures of our God a King, lift up your voice and with us sing, oh praise Him, Alleluia.
Let all things their Creator bless.  And worship Him in humbleness.  Praise, praise the Father, praise the Son.  And praise the Spirit, Three in One.  
And then it came.  A bunch of alleluias.  I normally do the set of 4, 3 times.  Since it was just me and my guitar, no band, I went longer.  I angrily screamed "alleluia" at my God.  I sang as loud as I could, I cried out to God, I didn't want to worship Him.  He had done what I thought was unthinkable, and then I had to lead these people worshiping Him.  
I continued.  I just looked up alleluia.  It's an interjection, an expression.  I don't know if there is a word for interjection confusion, but I was feeling that.  It wasn't an alleluia like a sarcastic "thanks a lot," it was as if told Middle to apologize to Little for stealing her ice cream.  The only reason she would do that is to not get in trouble.  She doesn't mean it, she doesn't even really open her mouth when she says it.  I was singing a word that is supposed to be a holy, worshiping, glorifying word to God and I am screaming it as angry as I could.
As tears rolled down my cheeks, I felt it.  I don't know what it exactly was, but I knew I could stop singing.  He heard my cry.  I realized that there was a plan.  Who am I to question it?  Over the next three days I would be so incredibly privileged to witness and experience God's Love in a way that I'd never seen before, and hope to never see again, because it would, most likely, mean the unthinkable.
Carrie and I were asked to be involved in the planning.  We asked her mom to take the kids for those next few days, and without a question she gladly did.  We got a bunch of pictures and put together a bulletin for the service and a bookmark that Grandma wanted to make, the girl at Kinkos found out what we were doing and gave us her employee discount.  We knew parking was going to be an issue for the viewing, so we asked Anderson Grove (the small group) to man the parking lots.  They gladly stood in the rain and directed traffic.  Video feed in the overflow room for the service at 11:30pm the night before?  "Let me go home and get any cables that we might need.  Let's do this."  Take off a work day to lead worship for the service for a family we've never met?  Boom, I have a band.
The next few days were Church.  I couldn't believe the outpouring of Love that came that week.  That week I fell in love with my church.  The Bride of Christ served Her Groom by reaching out to one of Her own.  By loving on people at their weakest.
When the kids finally came home all we did was hug them.  They knew something was up.  So we told them the best we could.  After those days, we made sure our daughters (and eventually our son) knew 2 things.  
1.  God is always in control
2.  Mommy and Daddy will never stop loving you, no matter what you do. 
Thank you to all of you who helped us that week.  Thank you for those of you that let us serve you that week.  Thank You, God, for always being in control.