"Pappy, are you a-seep?" Katie said in the only kind of whisper a 2-year-old can muster into my dad's ear at roughly midnight. He giggled, and I'm sure my mom followed suit. The night with Katie in between my parents in their king-sized bed would be full of story-reading, giggling and a few crying sessions for her mommy and daddy. But when Dad stumbled into the kitchen for a cup of hot coffee the next morning, despite his exhaustion, he reported it had been the best slumber party ever.
We're blessed to live little more than an hour away from my folks, which makes day trips between our two towns fairly easy. But we hadn't spent the night at Nana and Pappy's since my son, Adam, was born six months ago. Before he was born, Katie would sleep in a playpen in my dad's office while Aaron and I bunked in a spare room just down the hall. But Adam had the claim on the playpen this trip, leaving Aaron and I puzzling over where to put Katie. She'd never spent even one night in bed with us, and frankly we weren't too excited about inviting her in and potentially starting a trend. My parents, on the other hand, were more than eager. "OK," Aaron and I said with reluctance - not wanting to subject them to what we knew would be a much more eventful night than they'd bargained for, but also not wanting one for ourselves.
What I often fail to realize is that such things are grandparenting bliss.
And Katie had just as much fun on her visit, being fed whatever she wanted and holding a captive audience while dancing around the living room to Barney tunes. To top it off, my aunt is in the midst of knitting Katie the cutest little hats and clothes and spent some time using a mini-measuring tape to check Katie's dimensions. Ever the student, Katie began holding the device up to every object within her reach, reporting everything as measuring "one-a-pounds." We all cackled.
Adam, of course, was in his own state of euphoria. His rear scarcely touched any hard surface, as he had several sets of eager arms just waiting to cradle him. And his enthusiastic grin had everyone enamored.
But as in all good things, it had to end. We packed up the car and kids and headed home to Louisville, with our babies falling fast asleep within just a few minutes of our departure. Katie, who'd spent more than an hour slumping uncomfortably in her car seat startled awake with about five minutes left on our journey home. When our car rolled up the driveway, she finally recognized her surroundings and protested, "No home! No home!" And finally, as we rolled into the garage, Katie arched her back, screaming, "No!"
She was home. Back to nights in her crib with no one to talk to but her stuffed bears and duckies, and they don't giggle back. There would be no more snacks immediately following dinner. I will try to be a more enthusiastic audience when the Katie show is on, maybe less engrossed in the household tasks I'm usually trying to accomplish in the mean time. But I've got a feeling that nothing really replaces the kind of attention kids get from their Nanas and Pappies. And maybe that's the way it ought to be.
Sunday, February 21, 2010
Monday, February 8, 2010
Sing
Surrounded by your glory what will my heart feel?
Will I dance for you, Jesus, or in awe of you be still?
Will I stand in your presence or to my knees will I fall?
Will I sing 'Hallelujah?' Will I be able to speak at all?"
I Can Only Imagine is one of my favorite worship songs of all time because it really makes me think about what it will be like to finally be where I was created to be. And I have a sneaking suspicion I'll be one who will be speechless in His presence. Maybe part of that comes from recognizing that after all these years of spending so many words honoring myself down here, it will be fitting to have my silence honor Him there. But the other reason I think I'll be silent is because I can't get through Revelation Song without my voice cracking into broken sobs.
It's not that I'm shy, and there's not even a hint of timidity in me when I sing. In fact, I probably belt it out a little too much. I seem to remember a choir director from my past saying to a group I was in that in a really great choir, a listener shouldn't be able to pick out any one voice. And I'm fairly certain that was said for my benefit, to no avail. I love to sing and I love to worship, but sometimes I wonder if I'm singing with the right audience in mind. Revelation Song seems to jerk me into proper perspective.
So if you were to glance at me singing it during worship service at Southeast Christian Church, chances are that while my mouth is moving there may not be any actual sound coming out of it. It usually happens during the chorus:
Holy, holy, holy is the Lord God Almighty, who was, and is and is to come.
With all creation I sing praise to the King of Kings.
You are my everything, and I will adore you.
That first line is what John wrote that the six-winged creatures continually said as they surrounded the throne of God. And while I can sing this song to my babies when I'm rocking them to sleep, being in a sanctuary with about 7,000 other people singing it renders me mute. It gives me a striking sense of what it will be like to be in God's presence among all His people - each one of whom is repeating that same refrain of the angels - and it's a feeling so ovewhelming that I can't make a sound.
And to those who wonder why I'm crying as we leave the sanctuary, it's because all I can do is hope the Lord gives me the ability to sing in His presence. I'd like to sing that song to Him all day.
Will I dance for you, Jesus, or in awe of you be still?
Will I stand in your presence or to my knees will I fall?
Will I sing 'Hallelujah?' Will I be able to speak at all?"
I Can Only Imagine is one of my favorite worship songs of all time because it really makes me think about what it will be like to finally be where I was created to be. And I have a sneaking suspicion I'll be one who will be speechless in His presence. Maybe part of that comes from recognizing that after all these years of spending so many words honoring myself down here, it will be fitting to have my silence honor Him there. But the other reason I think I'll be silent is because I can't get through Revelation Song without my voice cracking into broken sobs.
It's not that I'm shy, and there's not even a hint of timidity in me when I sing. In fact, I probably belt it out a little too much. I seem to remember a choir director from my past saying to a group I was in that in a really great choir, a listener shouldn't be able to pick out any one voice. And I'm fairly certain that was said for my benefit, to no avail. I love to sing and I love to worship, but sometimes I wonder if I'm singing with the right audience in mind. Revelation Song seems to jerk me into proper perspective.
So if you were to glance at me singing it during worship service at Southeast Christian Church, chances are that while my mouth is moving there may not be any actual sound coming out of it. It usually happens during the chorus:
Holy, holy, holy is the Lord God Almighty, who was, and is and is to come.
With all creation I sing praise to the King of Kings.
You are my everything, and I will adore you.
That first line is what John wrote that the six-winged creatures continually said as they surrounded the throne of God. And while I can sing this song to my babies when I'm rocking them to sleep, being in a sanctuary with about 7,000 other people singing it renders me mute. It gives me a striking sense of what it will be like to be in God's presence among all His people - each one of whom is repeating that same refrain of the angels - and it's a feeling so ovewhelming that I can't make a sound.
And to those who wonder why I'm crying as we leave the sanctuary, it's because all I can do is hope the Lord gives me the ability to sing in His presence. I'd like to sing that song to Him all day.
Sunday, January 17, 2010
The Bold and the Silent
Today I was reminded how powerful outside influences can be in shaping a person. For example, I remember vividly the day I became bold. I was preparing to audition for an all state choir competition, learning the soprano part to the piece we were each to perform for the judges, and apparently I was eeking out the words with the force of a sneezing mouse. My choir director, whom I dearly love to this day, became irritated and got in my face, half shouting, "Tonia, you are NOT a timid person!" "Oh," I thought. "I guess she's right." Unfortunately, I wasn't the world's best soprano and didn't make the cut for all state, but I came away with something better - confidence - thanks to one person who built me up.
From that point on, I was bold. I became passionate about defending the cause of the unborn and became active in the pro-life movement. I started volunteering at Friends for Life, a local pro-life group that provided information on abortion and its alternatives, and eventually ended up serving on its board of directors. We lobbied the Kentucky legislature and participated in life chains, the annual march on Washington and letter-writing campaigns to law makers and newspapers alike. I even spoke to youth groups and the occasional public school classroom, which I later realized potentially could have gotten those teachers fired. Actively opposing abortion had become like oxygen to me, and I loved being a part of something I knew down to my bones was of eternal significance.
So that was the fruit of my confidence born on that single day in choir. But I also remember when I lost it. I was in college, about to pursue a career in journalism. No one directly admonished me to drop my pro-life affiliations, but it was pretty clear that if I wanted to work anywhere with a circulation larger than my neighborhood I'd better tone it down. So I turned down the dial. All the way. And while I ended up getting a wonderful reporting job, I soon felt like a helium balloon that had lost its lift. I'd learned to sit in corners at meetings in silence, scribbling down other people's empassioned arguments and in some cases stuffing what I knew to be true. That's what the job required and that's what I did, but something inside of me was dead.
It's been a decade since I graduated from college and a couple of years since I've worked in journalism, yet I still haven't regained that fervor for speaking out for the unborn. I find myself listening to others laying out the case against abortion, shaking my head in tears and thinking, "Why didn't I say that?" I'm ashamed that as all these years have ticked by, millions of children have lost their lives and millions of mothers have been emotionally wounded in the name of choice, and I've said next to nothing.
About 50 million babies have been aborted since the Roe v. Wade decision was handed down Jan. 22, 1973. After sitting through probably the best sermon on abortion I've ever heard, today I'm feeling like I share some of the responsibility for their deaths. Silence is a form of abetment, and I don't intend to continue in it. May God forgive me and our nation.
From that point on, I was bold. I became passionate about defending the cause of the unborn and became active in the pro-life movement. I started volunteering at Friends for Life, a local pro-life group that provided information on abortion and its alternatives, and eventually ended up serving on its board of directors. We lobbied the Kentucky legislature and participated in life chains, the annual march on Washington and letter-writing campaigns to law makers and newspapers alike. I even spoke to youth groups and the occasional public school classroom, which I later realized potentially could have gotten those teachers fired. Actively opposing abortion had become like oxygen to me, and I loved being a part of something I knew down to my bones was of eternal significance.
So that was the fruit of my confidence born on that single day in choir. But I also remember when I lost it. I was in college, about to pursue a career in journalism. No one directly admonished me to drop my pro-life affiliations, but it was pretty clear that if I wanted to work anywhere with a circulation larger than my neighborhood I'd better tone it down. So I turned down the dial. All the way. And while I ended up getting a wonderful reporting job, I soon felt like a helium balloon that had lost its lift. I'd learned to sit in corners at meetings in silence, scribbling down other people's empassioned arguments and in some cases stuffing what I knew to be true. That's what the job required and that's what I did, but something inside of me was dead.
It's been a decade since I graduated from college and a couple of years since I've worked in journalism, yet I still haven't regained that fervor for speaking out for the unborn. I find myself listening to others laying out the case against abortion, shaking my head in tears and thinking, "Why didn't I say that?" I'm ashamed that as all these years have ticked by, millions of children have lost their lives and millions of mothers have been emotionally wounded in the name of choice, and I've said next to nothing.
About 50 million babies have been aborted since the Roe v. Wade decision was handed down Jan. 22, 1973. After sitting through probably the best sermon on abortion I've ever heard, today I'm feeling like I share some of the responsibility for their deaths. Silence is a form of abetment, and I don't intend to continue in it. May God forgive me and our nation.
Thursday, December 31, 2009
A.D. 33
My dad's theory is that when the church is raptured, the new bodies we get to spend eternity in will be our likenesses at age 33 because that's the age Jesus was when he was crucified and resurrected. Dad says he considers that age to be our prime. Of course, I figure the age we each consider our prime keeps changing as we get older, but that's another issue. Nonetheless, it's an interesting theory, although I'm sure even if we're all 33 in Heaven that our new bodies will be without all the wear and tear 33 years on Earth can entail. Surely we won't have the stretch marks from childbirth, the beginnings of crow's feet and mouths full of fillings. Stys, warts, gray hair, cellulite, melanomas and tumors - all gone forever. Our minds will no longer be corrupted with distorted images of what life is supposed to be, so we won't be beating ourselves up over what we're not.
Still, I love this theory. I wonder whether all the babies who have died during pregnancy will be that age. Will their mothers recognize them anyway? Will I do a double take when I stand beside my grandfather, who was in his 70s when I last saw him but would then be young and handsome? What awesome thoughts!
As 2010 begins, I'm staring down the barrel of age 33, which carries the same significance to me as Dad's thoughts. It marked the end of Christ's ministry here as a man and the beginning of the age of grace. It was the age He was when He changed the world. When I reach this milestone in April I'm sure much reflection will be on my mind, as it is now, as to what I've accomplished with the life God has given me. It certainly could never compare with Christ's earthly years - not even a glimmer of it. After all, I squandered far too much of my life in rebellion. But what did God intend for me to do for Him here in the years He gave me, however many or few those may be? I know what the big-picture answer is, but what about the details?
In the time I have left I hope that will mean I've raised children who love God and love people and who seek to accomplish things of eternal significance. They are my primary mission field, but I also hope they aren't my entire mission field. I hope I will have had a marriage that mirrored Christ's relationship with the church, full of unconditional love and faithfulness despite circumstances. And I hope Aaron and I will have spent that marriage in ministry together. I hope I've been a good friend when others have been hurting. I hope I've fed those who were hungry and sheltered those who were in danger. I hope that somehow God will have furthered His kingdom using my life.
And I hope in the time I've spent being His hands and feet here on Earth that those hands and feet will be worn out, calloused and chapped. It won't matter by then; I'll have new ones.
Still, I love this theory. I wonder whether all the babies who have died during pregnancy will be that age. Will their mothers recognize them anyway? Will I do a double take when I stand beside my grandfather, who was in his 70s when I last saw him but would then be young and handsome? What awesome thoughts!
As 2010 begins, I'm staring down the barrel of age 33, which carries the same significance to me as Dad's thoughts. It marked the end of Christ's ministry here as a man and the beginning of the age of grace. It was the age He was when He changed the world. When I reach this milestone in April I'm sure much reflection will be on my mind, as it is now, as to what I've accomplished with the life God has given me. It certainly could never compare with Christ's earthly years - not even a glimmer of it. After all, I squandered far too much of my life in rebellion. But what did God intend for me to do for Him here in the years He gave me, however many or few those may be? I know what the big-picture answer is, but what about the details?
In the time I have left I hope that will mean I've raised children who love God and love people and who seek to accomplish things of eternal significance. They are my primary mission field, but I also hope they aren't my entire mission field. I hope I will have had a marriage that mirrored Christ's relationship with the church, full of unconditional love and faithfulness despite circumstances. And I hope Aaron and I will have spent that marriage in ministry together. I hope I've been a good friend when others have been hurting. I hope I've fed those who were hungry and sheltered those who were in danger. I hope that somehow God will have furthered His kingdom using my life.
And I hope in the time I've spent being His hands and feet here on Earth that those hands and feet will be worn out, calloused and chapped. It won't matter by then; I'll have new ones.
Monday, December 21, 2009
The Johnson Family 2009 in Review
Much of my year was spent pregnant, which to be honest has to be one of my least favorite states of being. Mind you, I couldn't love my children any more. In fact, I've truly enjoyed giving birth to them, especially considering the wonder drug we call the epidural. It's the nine months that precede the birth that are the challenge. Feeling sick for months and abstaining from sushi, soft cheeses and caffeine. Watching my body morph and my husband suffer my mood swings. Wearing the same pants pretty much every day. Not having the energy to get in the floor and play with my toddler. These aren't tragic conditions, but they're kinda the pits.
Of course, it was all worth it Aug. 12 when our Adam entered the outside world. He weighed 7 lbs., 5 oz., which seemed rather gaunt on his 21-inch frame. Don't worry, mother's milk bulked him up rapidly. At 4 months old, he's 17 pounds and in the 85th percentile, which means he can beat up 85 percent of other 4-month-old babies. Adam is quite possibly the sweetest little boy ever. Content at nearly all times, he loves to laugh, cuddle and, of course, eat. What else could you expect from someone with a drop of Holbrook blood in him? Big sister Katie adores Adam - or "Um," as she calls him - although she didn't know quite what to think of him when we brought him home. The first time I nursed Adam in front of Katie, her chin dropped and her eyes grew to the size of golf balls. She went to bed that night most upset, but was comforted by her Auntie Karen and Nana, both of whom were gracious to stay with us during the first two weeks of us having two kids.
Katie, who just turned 2, continues to be a bright light in the Johnson household. Everybody loves this little girl, and for good reason. She's just a doll. Cute. Spunky. Sweet. And, I must say, she's my mini me. But she is 2 and has mastered the art of tantrum-throwing. Aaron and I are navigating these waters reluctantly, but I'm convinced we'll all come out on the other side better for it. Katie loves all the requisite toddler icons - Elmo, Mickey Mouse and Barney, known at our house as "Barn." Thankfully, Katie started talking, overnight it seems. And, like most toddlers, she's a bit of a myna bird, repeating pretty much anything you say. She sits in the back seat of my car and chatters away. We're not always sure of what she's saying, but we're fairly certain it's all important.
Aaron has undertaken the Discipleship Curriculum at Southeast Christian Church. It's a very rigorous, nearly 2-year study of the Bible and Christian literature. I'm so proud of him for taking this step, as I think he'll emerge from it an even more effective leader. He's fallen for another - the iPhone. The good news is that I'm not as jealous of it now as I was when he brought it home. Aaron's other electronic pursuit is an online game called EVE, which has something to do with space, but that's about as detailed as this technophobe can get. Sorry, honey :)
Me, I spend my days with the kiddos but also keep busy at church. During my pregnancy I lead a small discussion group in a study called Me, Myself and Lies and loved my group. I took a break when Adam was born, but I'm ready to lead another group in January - another Kristen Sauder study, this one an examination of the prodigal son. Can't wait! I'm also getting a serious itch to write but am awaiting God's prompting on what to write about. He'll let me know when the time is right.
OK, so here's the not-so-good part. Just days before Adam's birth the Louisville area was deluged, and along with it were the apartments we own in Jeffersonville, Ind. Non-stop rains hovered over the area, clogging drainage systems that included the already inadequate ones in that small town. Unfortunately, some of our residents who lived in basement units of our buildings lost pretty much everything and many other residents also lost their cars, which were up to their hoods in murky water in the parking lot. We put up several residents in a hotel but inevitably lost some. Cleanup took weeks and we're still working on rebuilding three units. The good news is that we now have flood insurance, but Aaron now winces every time it rains.
And just like for most everyone in this country, the economy cometh. This year was tough on Aaron's business, commercial real estate. Nuff said. But he's persevering and we are very hopeful that we'll see better business days in 2010.
To sum it up, this year was a sort of a glimpse of life on the whole. We saw good times and we saw not so good times, but God was good in every bit of it. He always is. I was reminded this weekend that it rains on the righteous and the unrighteous... and, yes, I do mean RAIN. In short, I love this life the Lord has given me and look forward to what else He has in store!
Merry Christmas to all!
Thursday, December 10, 2009
Hush
Today is something many people didn't get. Scan the obituaries and you'll see listed by name people who would probably advise each of us to take a deep breath and appreciate what we've been given.
I wonder if we resolved today not to whine about anything whether we'd be silent the whole day. At my house that wouldn't be far from the truth, and that's only partially because a 2 year old lives here. I too am guilty of having a consumer attitude about life, wanting to be served what I've built up in my mind as what I deserve. But what I miss in all that is appreciating all the imperfect mess that makes life so wonderful. We have flaws to remind us that we need God, and our days are filled with trials that give us reasons to seek Him. And when we don't fully realize the incredible grace the Lord has shown us - if nothing else, consider that you woke up at all today - we're pretty unlikely to pass it along to anyone else. Hence the whining.
So in the spirit of ridding the world of one Negative Nancy, I declare today Thank God Thursday, which will be followed by Fall Silent Friday, Shut Your Pie Hole Saturday, Save It For Worship Sunday, Mellow Out Monday, Talk Less Tuesday and, in homage to Charlie Brown's teacher, Waa Waa Wednesday.
I challenge us all today to allow only what is positive, encouraging and full of praise escape our lips. I don't want to hear about how the weather isn't warm enough, cold enough or snowy enough. No complaints about breaking news pre-empted a basketball game. Eat what you're served without any comments on how long it took to get to your plate. Thank the person who served you, and if you get the chance, do something to serve that person. Today might be your last to be the Lord's hands and feet here on the earth.
I wonder if we resolved today not to whine about anything whether we'd be silent the whole day. At my house that wouldn't be far from the truth, and that's only partially because a 2 year old lives here. I too am guilty of having a consumer attitude about life, wanting to be served what I've built up in my mind as what I deserve. But what I miss in all that is appreciating all the imperfect mess that makes life so wonderful. We have flaws to remind us that we need God, and our days are filled with trials that give us reasons to seek Him. And when we don't fully realize the incredible grace the Lord has shown us - if nothing else, consider that you woke up at all today - we're pretty unlikely to pass it along to anyone else. Hence the whining.
So in the spirit of ridding the world of one Negative Nancy, I declare today Thank God Thursday, which will be followed by Fall Silent Friday, Shut Your Pie Hole Saturday, Save It For Worship Sunday, Mellow Out Monday, Talk Less Tuesday and, in homage to Charlie Brown's teacher, Waa Waa Wednesday.
I challenge us all today to allow only what is positive, encouraging and full of praise escape our lips. I don't want to hear about how the weather isn't warm enough, cold enough or snowy enough. No complaints about breaking news pre-empted a basketball game. Eat what you're served without any comments on how long it took to get to your plate. Thank the person who served you, and if you get the chance, do something to serve that person. Today might be your last to be the Lord's hands and feet here on the earth.
"This is the day the Lord has made; let us rejoice and be glad in it." Psalm 118:24
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
Believing in God vs. Believing God
In a speech last night detailing his decision to deploy another 30,000 troops to Afghanistan, President Obama folded in an example of his worldview that really bothered me:
I bring this up not to bash the president or use it as evidence to support the widespread claim that he's really a Muslim but to point out the difference between saying you're a Christian and actually following Christ. A lot of people claim they are Christians while far fewer believe the Bible and do what it says. I don't know anyone who minds the days off work for Christmas and Easter or putting up a tree each December, but following Christ when doing so is socially taboo is something entirely different.
See, I don't know whether Barack Obama is a Muslim or not, but I do know that he has all the signs of being a cultural Christian, as he has professed a faith in Christ yet disregards much of His teachings. Last night's statement is a good example.
In calling Islam one of the world's great religions, Obama is giving it equal billing with Christianity, Buddism, Judaism and the scores of lesser known sects worldwide, each of which I'm sure he'd say represents truth to its followers. The president seems to operate under the postmodernist mantra that there are many paths to Heaven, but that is not Christianity.
Jesus told His disciples in John 14 that He was going away to prepare a place for them and that they knew the way. Not understanding that Jesus was making reference to Heaven via His death and resurrection, Thomas asked how they could know the way, as they didn't know where He was going. Jesus answered with this: "I am the way, the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me."
By claiming one is a Christian, he isn't saying he believes that Jesus was a prophet who once ministered on Earth and was a great man. No, he's saying he follows Jesus and His teachings. He doesn't just believe in God, he believes God. The Bible makes a distinction between the two. James 2 says even the demons believe there's a God and shudder, while Genesis says Abraham believed God and it was credited to him as righteousness. It's the space between believing in and believing that makes the difference.
Many claim that what is true for them isn't necessarily true for someone else - i.e. the tenets of Christianity might be true for me but not for a Muslim, and vice versa. But that's an intellectually dishonest statement, as something can't be true and untrue at the same time. And Christ more than drew a line in the sand when it came to eternity.
John 10:24-27 - The Jews gathered around him, saying, "How long will you keep us in suspense? If you are the Christ, tell us plainly." Jesus answered, "I did tell you, but you do not believe. The miracles I do in my Father's name speak for me, but you do not believe because you are not my sheep. My sheep listen to my voice; I know them, and they follow me."
Christ wasn't working in concert with Muhammad or Buddha nor was He recruiting the half-hearted. He is the one and only way. Mr. President, either you believe Him or you don't.
"As we know, these men belonged to al Qaeda -- a group of extremists who have distorted and defiled Islam, one of the world's great religions, to justify the slaughter of innocents.""One of the world's greatest religions."
I bring this up not to bash the president or use it as evidence to support the widespread claim that he's really a Muslim but to point out the difference between saying you're a Christian and actually following Christ. A lot of people claim they are Christians while far fewer believe the Bible and do what it says. I don't know anyone who minds the days off work for Christmas and Easter or putting up a tree each December, but following Christ when doing so is socially taboo is something entirely different.
See, I don't know whether Barack Obama is a Muslim or not, but I do know that he has all the signs of being a cultural Christian, as he has professed a faith in Christ yet disregards much of His teachings. Last night's statement is a good example.
In calling Islam one of the world's great religions, Obama is giving it equal billing with Christianity, Buddism, Judaism and the scores of lesser known sects worldwide, each of which I'm sure he'd say represents truth to its followers. The president seems to operate under the postmodernist mantra that there are many paths to Heaven, but that is not Christianity.
Jesus told His disciples in John 14 that He was going away to prepare a place for them and that they knew the way. Not understanding that Jesus was making reference to Heaven via His death and resurrection, Thomas asked how they could know the way, as they didn't know where He was going. Jesus answered with this: "I am the way, the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me."
By claiming one is a Christian, he isn't saying he believes that Jesus was a prophet who once ministered on Earth and was a great man. No, he's saying he follows Jesus and His teachings. He doesn't just believe in God, he believes God. The Bible makes a distinction between the two. James 2 says even the demons believe there's a God and shudder, while Genesis says Abraham believed God and it was credited to him as righteousness. It's the space between believing in and believing that makes the difference.
Many claim that what is true for them isn't necessarily true for someone else - i.e. the tenets of Christianity might be true for me but not for a Muslim, and vice versa. But that's an intellectually dishonest statement, as something can't be true and untrue at the same time. And Christ more than drew a line in the sand when it came to eternity.
John 10:24-27 - The Jews gathered around him, saying, "How long will you keep us in suspense? If you are the Christ, tell us plainly." Jesus answered, "I did tell you, but you do not believe. The miracles I do in my Father's name speak for me, but you do not believe because you are not my sheep. My sheep listen to my voice; I know them, and they follow me."
Christ wasn't working in concert with Muhammad or Buddha nor was He recruiting the half-hearted. He is the one and only way. Mr. President, either you believe Him or you don't.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)