Using my Story for His Glory

Using My Story for His Glory

            I had never been on an airplane before, especially not one overseas.  I had never been on a mission trip either, especially not one in another country across the ocean.  But, when my parents asked me whether or not I would like to go to Romania over Spring Break, I jumped at the chance.  As nervous as I was to ride on a plane for the first time and to go on a mission trip for the first time, a little piece of me was excited as well, excited to share the Good News of Jesus.  I hoped that I could make some kind of difference in the lives of the Romanian people, even with the little experience I possessed.

            There were thirteen of us who traveled the fourteen-hour journey to Jibou, Romania, and I was the youngest out of all of them.  But, I served the people there, using the wisdom God had placed inside of me that was beyond my twelve years.  Singing was a big part of the trip, so, even though my voice is not made for singing, I sang along with the rest of our group, sharing God’s truth through lyrics and chords.  A dentist came along with us on the trip, so while the dentist and my mom worked on less fortunate children’s rotting teeth, I played with the kids and taught them about Jesus.  We went into an orphanage and into the marketplace, where I learned how to make balloon animals.  The trip was not like I had expected it to be, but in every little thing that happened, God taught me something big about myself and about Him.

Every night, different members of our team would split up into groups and go into neighboring villages to sing, teach, or share our testimonies.  One specific night, my mom was not feeling good, so she opted to stay at our host home.  My stomach flipped upside down when she said this, because I did not want to go without another female from our team.  But, it was foolish and childish of me to think this way, so one of the members of our team, Pastor Flaviu, and a Romanian pastor, Pastor Aleen, picked me up that night.  I sat in silence in the back of the car while the two of them chattered off in Romanian.  Not understanding anything they said, I peered out the windows at the beautiful Romanian countryside.  The sun was slowly setting over the hills, and I sat in awe of the small country that God had brought me to, not wanting to be anywhere else at the moment. 

Suddenly, Pastor Flav’s voice wafted over to me in English, “Rebekah, are you prepared to share your testimony at the church?”

I confirmed that I was, the knot in my stomach growing tighter by the second.  I had shared my testimony once already during the trip, but for some reason, this felt different.  Maybe it was because there were no women with me, it was just me and the two pastors.  Or maybe it was because this was at a church with lots of adults, rather than mostly children like it had been when I shared at the orphanage.  Whatever it was, I was not excited to stand up in front of a group of people and tell them all about my life. 

Soon I found myself standing in the very front row of the pews, the only person in the building who did not have a Romanian background, the only person who did not know the words to the worship songs.  When worship ended, Pastor Flav called me up to the front and introduced me.  Nervousness enveloped my body as I stood up to face the small congregation.  My long skirt folded around my legs, and I smoothed out my blue shirt.  There was no need for a microphone; I do not think the church owned one anyways.  But, as I began to talk, my voice grew louder and more confident. 

“I’ve grown up in church all my life,” I began in English, with Pastor Flav translating between every sentence.  Every person in the pews had their eyes locked on me, and I looked back at them.  On one side of the church sat all the women and girls, and on the other side sat the men, an example of the strange Romanian tradition that occurred in every church.  There was a mix of generations: older men and women, some who looked too frail to be attending a late night church service, parents, and their children.  Two boys sat in the very back, one of whom looked close to my own age. 

I shared my testimony of giving my life to Jesus at six-years old, a fairly young age.  I went on to explain my life after I got saved, and how I had grown in Christ.  During the last bit of my short speech, I talked about being the youngest on the mission team.  “But, being young doesn’t stop me from having just as much impact as adults.”  The truth of my own statement hit me as I realized that there was no need for me to be nervous.  God knew what He was doing, and I just had to lean back on Him.

            After I was finished, everyone clapped enthusiastically and Pastor Flav stood up to preach.  I sat through the Romanian sermon, my eyes drooping with tiredness at the words I could not understand.  Finally, the long service ended after another session of music.  I waited around with the two pastors, smiling at people as they left and shaking their hands.  In the car as we left the village, Racas, I sat quietly once again as the two men up front talked.  But this time, it was mostly Pastor Aleen.  It was almost like he was telling a story to Pastor Flav.  I wondered what it was, but I doubted they would confide in me.

            Finally, Pastor Flav spoke for my ears to hear.  “Rebekah, Pastor Aleen was just telling me that after the service, a woman came up to him and told him that she has a son who is around your age. Apparently after you had finished with your testimony, the boy turned to his mother and told her that he needs to get saved too. Your testimony really affected him, and his mom is hopeful that he’ll become a Christian soon.” 

            I was deeply touched by this story.  I smiled in the dark, remembering the words of Paul the Apostle.  “Do not let anyone look down on you because you are young…”  My own feeble declaration of faith, God used for His glory.  I will never forget this story about the boy in the very back of the church, who listened to me and took my words to heart.  I don’t know for sure if that boy got saved that night or any other time, but I planted a seed and that’s all that God wanted me to do.

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This is a true story that happened to me last April.  As many of you probably know, I went on a week-long mission trip to Romania with a group from my church.  I was nervous, not only to fly on a plane overseas for the first time, but to share my testimony in front of a group of people.  We were all told ahead of time that we were going to share our testimony at least once on the trip.  I was ok with that, but I doubted that my own meager story would have any effect on the people in Romania.  When I got saved, I was only a child.  But, God used my story to affect another person my own age and I was overjoyed that God actually wanted to use me to bring glory to His kingdom.  He can do the same for you.  Just because you are young and you don't think your story is very great, God can use you to do great things for Him, if you will just trust Him. 

Tick-Tock

I sprung from my bed, jerking upright.  My heavy chest rose up and down in fast, desperate motions.  I gulped in air.  The oxygen felt refreshing entering my lungs.  Beads of sweat trickled down my forehead, leaving my skin sticky and dry.   The century-old timer teetered on the edge of my rolltop desk, its slow and mournful ticks beating in a rhythm.  Just like my heart.  Rapid and panicked.

Tick-tock. 

Unlike past nights, I forced myself to endure the sound of the annoying timer.  The dreadful noise that struck at my head, causing the room to spin in circles and my stomach to ache worse than anything.

            Today something was going to happen.  This thing would make my life better or worse.  Which one, I had no clue.  In frustration, I almost strangled my hair while getting ready for school.  My reflection frowned back at me in my mirror, not excited at all for what was to come. 

My eyes caught the sight of the clock. Each tick of the second hand echoed throughout the room. My fingers brushed against the rusty, green metal of the century old timer.  I often wished for something more appropriate for modern-day society instead of that old piece of junk.  For thirteen years, its melancholy taps engraved themselves into my mind.  Tick-tock. But, it had never bothered me this much before.  I slammed the top of my desk down, locking the timer inside for the day.   The less I was forced to think about it, the better. 

            I compelled my feet to move forwards to where I could still smell the remains of bacon from my father’s early breakfast.  Our family’s big, white van awaited me in our garage so I grabbed a yogurt out of our fridge.  My mom squeezed the steering wheel.  I slid into our car and tore the lid off of my quick breakfast.  “Today’s the big day, sweetie. Your timer has almost reached your Major Life Event. I feel so excited for you to embark on this new journey in your life.”

            I allowed an aggravated sigh to escape my lips.  I totally wasn’t in the mood. “Excited? I talked about this before with you. It’s more likely something will happen to make my life miserable.”

            Mom smiled knowingly at how naïve I appeared. “But, think of what happened to me. I got this ring on my finger.” But, at thirteen, I prayed no one proposed to me.

            I sighed again and decided to let the conversation drop.  My mind was coming up with some snarky remarks, and my mother was not one to mess with.

            She broke the silence first. “Do you know why your father and I named you Arti?”

I shook my head.  I wondered sometimes, but never bothered to ask.  I figured if it was important enough, they’d tell me why my name was so unusual.  So unusual that in my elementary days, kids made mean comments about it. 

“The name Arti means noble strength. When we realized your MLE would happen when you were thirteen years old, we decided that you would certainly need to have some noble strength to be able to handle it. Many who are forced to go through something terrible at your age need to be more prepared. They succumb to the fear and are trapped. But, I think you’re perfectly capable.”

            I bit my lip.  Hard.  That nauseous feeling remained in my stomach, but it slowly sank away as my mother spoke.  I sat up straighter in my seat.  A small smile formed on my lips. “Thanks Mom.” 

            School crept by at a very slow pace.  I had until this evening.  7:42 to be exact.  Then, all my anxiety would be over.  Getting through the hours leading up to a person’s MLE always turned out to be the hardest.  And due to the fact I had been stressing all morning, I zoned out in math class and missed Mr. Feather’s explanation of how to solve a linear equation.

            I walked with my head hanging low over to my normal lunch table.  With very step I took, I imagined all the different scenarios that could occur later, and the butterflies in my stomach returned.  My best friend, Valentine, was already lounging in her normal spot at the head of the table.  I slipped into my seat, and the corners of her mouth perked up, amused. “Come on, Arti. You worry too much.”

            “That’s easy for you to say. You have twenty more years.” I zipped open my lunchbox and withdrew another cup of yogurt.  The strawberry-flavored goodness slid down the back of my throat, calming my nerves, just like it had ever since I was a child.  Valentine always joked that I would not be able to live without my daily dose of yogurt, and she was probably right.  I smiled a little bit thinking about this.

            “Relax. You still have over eight hours!” Valentine’s optimism was catchy.  Her corny puns cheered me up, and I found myself laughing along with her.  My friend’s bubbly spirit could always brighten my day.

            After school, I changed out of my uniform and replaced it with something more appropriate for horseback riding.  Instead of bringing me home after school, my mom turned into a secluded entrance off one side of the road.  My grandma’s bright blue house welcomed me.  I fixed my warm riding jacket onto myself and hopped out of the car, my heavy boots thudding onto the ground.

            My cousin ran out onto the front porch, and I waved to my mother, glad to escape all her questions about how my day went.  “Ready to ride?” Noah asked me as she pulled her hair back into a tiny ponytail that bounced in rhythm with her steps.  I nodded, and my heartbeat quickened at the thought of getting on my horse’s back for the first time all week.  The joy I felt when riding surpassed anything else I did.

            I followed my cousin around the back of the house, neither of us talking at first.  But, I felt no tension in the air.   Noah looked very thoughtful as we strolled down to the barn, as if she realized that I just needed some time for quiet, time to think.  Noah would know this better than anyone because her Major Life Event occurred two years ago when she was fourteen.  She knew exactly how I was feeling.  Stressed.  Worried.  Terrified.  Yep, that pretty much sums it up.

            We galloped around the field that connected to my grandparents’ property.  I rode Dancer, my eventing horse, without a saddle.  Her back was bony, but feeling the horse beneath me without a saddle limiting my experience always turned out to be better.  The sharp wind blew my curly, red locks all over the place and nipped at my face.  Dancer’s movements were smooth, and she went whichever waay I directed her.  I sank deeper into the saddle, and smiled down at my horse, truly relaxing.  Although, it was still in the back of my mind, I thought nothing of my MLE clock back in my desk at home. 

            After showering, my phone read 5:18.  I needed to do some homework on my laptop, but it lay inside my rolltop desk.  I definitely wasn’t opening my desk until I had to get my clock out.  I wanted time to hurry up so I could get my MLE over with, but at the same time, I wished for it to slow down and give me more time to mentally prepare.  To distract myself, I grabbed my notebook and pencils and decided to draw.  At, six o’clock, four satisfactory pictures of Dancer lay on my bedroom floor.

            My mom called me in for dinner, her voice gentle but demanding.  I trudged down the stairs, ready for a boatload of questions about my thoughts and my concerns towards my MLE.  But, my family didn’t say a word about it.  They talked amongst themselves, not mentioning my MLE once.  I pushed my pasta around on my plate, even though it was my favorite kind.  I glanced down to realize that my hands were shaking, my palms sweaty.  I bit my lip, a nervous habit that always seemed to pop up.  Butterflies fluttered in my stomach, and emotions I never experienced before coursed through my body.  I couldn’t pay attention to the conversation around the dinner table without my thoughts drifting off, and anything I said was short and without feeling.

            At 7:38, all four of us gathered in the living room.  Society required three questions to be answered.  My answers had to be honest because of an act passed thirty-two years ago.  The Society greatly emphasized honesty.

“Are you scared?” My dad asked.

            I bit my lip for, as it seemed, the fifteenth time that day.  “Yeah, a little bit.”  How about scared out of my mind?  Anxious.  Worried.  About to throw up in my mouth.

             “Describe to us what you are feeling,” my mom said, a silver recorder in her hand.  The silver recorder stared me in the eye, warning me to choose my answers carefully.  The government would hear everything I said.

            “Well…scared. Nervous. I’m so worried that I can’t think very well.  I’m not excited at all, but very stressed.,” I explained my feelings the best I could.  But, the other emotions I couldn’t put into words.  I didn’t want them to know everything; I wanted to keep my thoughts for myself.

            “Are you willing to go along with whatever happens to you with no restraints?” My dad interrogated.  His voice quivered as he spoke.  A sense of protection washed over me.  To know that my father was worried for me too was enough.

            “Yes.”  But was I?  Could I do this?  Was I strong and noble like my name?

            The beaten-up timer lay limp in my lap.  My hands stroked the places where the names of users before me were carved.  Exactly 7:41.

            At 7:42, we heard a loud knock on the door and I cringed.  My teeth sank deep into my lip until I could taste blood.  It was my duty to open the door.  My time had arrived.  My dad followed me.  I took one giant step towards the door.  And another.  I turned the handle.

            Before me stood a blond-hair, blue-eyed man.  A very professional-looking nametag adorned his button-up shirt.

            “Miss Harris?  My name is Matt Underman.  The Child Abuse Association has sent me to your house. Sources tell me that your parents are physically abusing you.  I’ve come to take you to our Center.”

            “What?” The news took my breath away.  I was sure everyone nearby could hear the fast beat of my heart.  My arm shot out to grab a hold of the doorpost.  Fainting would be terrible right now.  It would show my weakness.  I assured myself of my strength.  Noble strength.  Arti. 

A thousand thoughts whirled in my head.  This can’t be happening.  Living away from my parents is pointless – they are the best in the world.  I gathered all my courage inside of me, knowing I must reply to Mr. Underman’s demand.  “You’re wrong. I’ve never been abused, especially not by my parents. They would never do anything harmful to me.”

            “I’m sorry ma’am. But I have to do my job. We need to get you out of this environment. Pack a bag and meet me outside. We’ll leave right away.”

Guest Post by Kathryn Forrest

The Biggest Sacrifice

By Kathryn Forrest

Comfort zone is the term used to describe being in a state of comfort in your surroundings and/or with your tasks. Being in your comfort zone is relaxing and feels good; leaving it is a decision that isn’t usually made. On the rare occasions where we do leave our comfort zones, there is almost always a good cause motivating us.

For example, you’re working on a group project in school and your team has divided the tasks equally between teammates. The due date is tomorrow. One of your partners comes up to you and asks if you could do their part because a family member recently passed away and they couldn’t do their job. This is a situation that is out of your comfort zone, but helping your team-mate would be the right thing to do. After all, their situation isn’t their fault. So, you would most likely leave your comfort zone by adding a little weight onto your shoulders.

Now, let’s look at this scenario. You’re in the same situation school wise, but this time your teammate asks if you can do their part of the work because they simply didn’t have enough time to finish it. Your teacher had previously given you time to work on your project in class and this person had wasted their time on social media and you know it. Would you leave your comfort zone for them? Jesus would. For all of them, for all of us.
  
We are all sinners, meaning we all make mistakes. No matter how good you are, your bad will always outweigh your good. God is good, He is perfect and has never failed. His perfect nature causes Him to be separate from us, but God didn’t let our sin get in His way. His love for us is unconditional and that means He will do anything to end the separation.
Jesus is God’s only son and is a part of God through the Trinity. God loves His Son and He loves us as well. So, God sent Jesus to our imperfect sinful planet with a plan in mind. God became flesh and left His heavenly comfort zone.

For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life. John 3:16

Jesus was born in a place far from royalty: a stable. His cradle was a feeding troth. He was born to a carpenter in Bethlehem and grew up in Nazareth. These places were under roman rule, and sometimes the Romans could be quite harsh. Our Prince of Peace wasn’t exactly welcomed with the royal treatment.

She wrapped him in cloths and placed him in a manger, because there was no guest room available for them. Luke 2:7b

Growing up, young Jesus had to resist many temptations just like other humans. Although He reigned over us, He was on our turf, which meant that the Devil had access to Him. In order to fulfill God’s plan, Jesus had to resist even the smallest temptations, some that might be unrecognizable to man. Sinning was against Jesus’ nature, but was part a part of it at the same time because of His human qualities.

At this point, Satan was probably well aware that God had a plan on the go because His own Son was on Earth physically. Satan, being God’s enemy, had to make an attempt at making Jesus fail His mission. Satan was unable to do so, but made Jesus suffer anyway. Satan tempted Jesus at several occasions and would even show up to Jesus directly. In one case, the Devil tempted Jesus while He was fasting. Jesus was weak physically and was extremely hungry.

Then Jesus was led into the wilderness to be tempted by the devil. After fasting forty days and forty nights, he was hungry. The tempter came to him and said, “If you are the Son of God, tell these stones to become bread.” Matthew 4:1-3

Satan tried to use Jesus’ earthly desires to his advantage and failed. Jesus resisted to all temptations clinging tightly to the Word of His Father.

I can just imagine the worldly reaction to Jesus’ unworldliness. The carpenter’s son who never took risks and was just too good, could that have been the world view? As Jesus grew older the pressure from His peers was probably much harder on Him than pressure will ever be on us.

Jesus Christ’s mission was also to love us, to care for us, to protect us, to teach us, and to guide us during His stay on Earth. Plus, He had to fend off the Pharisees, who were planning His death at the time. Jesus had to do all these things for the people, and did them willingly even though He could see the people’s hearts, minds, and deepest regrets. He knew all these things and still went through with the plan.

Then came the crucifixion. Jesus knew it was coming and emotional pain would be inflicted upon Him. On top of that was the spiritual aspect, our sin. He would pay the penalty for our sin and would conquer death to save us from it. Now, Jesus wanted us to be sin-free and forgiven, but His earthly self did not want to go through that torture.

Going a little farther, he fell with his face to the ground and prayed, “My Father, if it is possible, may this cup be taken from me. Yet not as I will, as you will.” Matthew 29:39

What Jesus prayed in this verse was that the plan could be changed because He did not want to die. But, in the end, He knew that God was greater and that His Father’s plan would succeed.

Next came the torture. First of all, Jesus was betrayed by a friend who cared only for money. Then, He went on trial as Peter, another disciple, denied knowing Jesus three times in a row. Jesus had gone before many important men for many trials all without getting angry, the Devil was on the move.

Then, a crowd shouted for His crucifixion. Crucifixion was an intense, roman method of punishment that involved nails being driven through your hands and feet and rubbing against your bones. These nails were the only support you had as you hung on a cross for several hours, even days, craving death as a crowd scorned you. This was what Jesus was condemned to. But before death, Jesus was mocked by Roman soldiers. He stood there as they tore His clothes, whipped Him, and placed a crown of thorns on His head. After this, He could barely even hold His cross. All this punishment was inflicted on an undeserving man. The mocking continued as He hung on the cross and His mother and other women He had helped throughout His life were weeping at His feet.

They spit on him, and took the staff and struck him on the head again and again. After they had mocked him, they took off the robe and put his own clothes on him. Then they led him away to crucify him. Matthew 27:30-31

Well, there’s most of the bad stuff, although I’m sure Jesus’ life was much worse by our standards than I just described it. That isn’t the end of Jesus, though. After being placed in a tomb, Jesus rose again three days later and completed His mission, His plan to free us from sin and death so that we could live forever in paradise with Him. An undeserving man was tortured so that we, undeserving men, could have a purpose through Him. Isn’t that great!? Jesus loves us SOOOOO much!

Yet, we are still ignorant, we are selfish, we are liars, and the list goes on. No matter how many times we fail, He will forgive us. We don’t have to be labeled by our sin. At the beginning of the post, each of your teammates was labeled, the first one was a good worker, and the second had bad habits. Through Christ, we can have many labels: free, loved, saved, adored, adopted, forgiven, etc. Isn’t Jesus the best?! He is my Savior and He can be yours too. All you have to do is believe. After all Christ has done for you (YES YOU) shouldn’t you pay Him back? Obviously, it is impossible to do so, but serving Him and loving Him is all God needs in return. We must dedicate our ENTIRE lives to God. Jesus left His comfort zone for you, will you leave yours for Him?

For while we were still helpless, at the appointed moment, Christ died for the ungodly. For rarely will someone die for just a person – though for a good person perhaps someone might even dare to die. But God proves His own love for us in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us! Romans 5:6-8