God teaches me more and more how to hear Him. Sometimes I think that our work in Asia has been one big lesson in listening. Let me share what I mean:
I'll start at the beginning. I've felt called to missions most of my life (since before I was a Christian, if you can believe that), but there was a specific call for Enoch and me to join Tony and Cindy Brewer in Asia during this trip. The first time God spoke to me about joining the Brewers is when Tony publicly announced that he would be leaving for Asia. The announcement was during a service of sorts, and at the end of the service Tony asked all attending to take some time to listen, seeking God as to what sort of involvement we were to have in Tony's work. I listened, and God spoke. He said, "Go, go, go now, go." I was ecstatic.
Fast-forward several months of praying and seeking God. God confirmed the call to both of us again and again. But it is so funny--you know how you wonder how people like the Israelites turn their backs on God after experiencing miracle after miracle? Well, I'm just like them. After a while, discouragement sat in and I began to wonder if I had ever heard God to start with. One morning on our way to work, I said to Enoch, "Maybe I was wrong, maybe I didn't really hear God." Just then, a car passed us...and you wouldn't believe what was on the license plate--it said "Go Now Go", the very words God had spoken to me months before.
So in the summer of 2008 we departed for Asia, eager to do His work. We were blessed beyond measure...then we ran out of money and had to return to the US. Since then we've been in KY, doing our best to continue some of the work via the computer and raising money for our return.
Recently, God confirmed to each of us separately, without the other knowing about it, that He wants us to go ahead and purchase the tickets for our return flight. During the past few weeks, we've been praying about the date of return. Now I'm going to tell on myself again--I didn't really expect for Him to give us an exact date; I didn't even ask Him. I don't know...maybe somewhere deep down I didn't belive that He did that sort of thing.... But Enoch, faithful, trusting Enoch, believed God could and would and listened for just that.
So several days ago, Enoch asks me the date of his sister Kristin's birthday. I didn't know and asked why. Enoch's reply was that God told him we will be leaving on that day.
Well, I didn't really know what to do with that. Honestly, I didn't think much of it--I didn't even try to find out the date of her birthday...until Sunday. Christmas is in a few days, so Sunday's text was out of Luke. We were reading a passage about Anna, who served in the temple until she was 84. About that time, Enoch got out his calendar and started counting days. It just didn't click with me what on earth he might be doing. He leaned over and whispered that we really needed to find out the date of Kristin's birthday.
I was pretty curious, so when we were alone after the service I asked what happened. While we had been reading the text about Anna, God spoke to Enoch that we would be leaving in 84 days. By now you've read enough about me to know that I'm not the most believing of characters, so I felt (but didn't say) that it sure would be strange for God to use a totally unrelated verse out of the Bible to give us a date; I doubted that the two things Enoch had heard would match up. I counted myself, and 84 days from Sunday is March 15th of 2009. I thought Kristin's birthday was in April; Enoch wasn't sure. So Sunday evening I finally asked my mother-in-law what I should have, in faith, asked her days ago. To my amazement, she said that Kristin's birthday is, in fact, March 15th!
The bottom line is, God is always speaking (and He'll use whatever He wants to to communicate with us); the trick--for me, anyhow--is learning to listen.
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
Tuesday, August 5, 2008
Showers, Spiders, and Small Houses
The past four days it has rained and rained and rained. In the US, this is a minor inconvenience--you worry about messing up your hair if it is fixed, or about getting your shoes muddy. Here, you worry about leaks and losing electricity, roads covered in water (which is no fun on a motorbike), and--the biggest issue for us--laundry. We have nine people living in one house. There is one washing machine...and one clothes line. On a normal day, we probably do two loads of laundry. It works just fine, though, because the heat dries up the clothes in no time. But when it rains for four days straight, you have problems. Cindy Brewer and I try to sneak out in between rain showers to hang everything up. When we hear tapping on our tin roof, we go running for the clothes...and hope we can get them before they're soaked all over again. Yesterday, we tried to improvise by hanging up a second clothesline under a sheltered area of the roof; we used poles (which are meant to hold mosquito nets over the beds) and ribbon hung from the rafters. It held for a little while, then came tumbling down. I think we need to come up with a better solution before the rainy season....
A few days ago (on one of my trips to the clothesline) I discovered that we had a not-so-welcome visitor. Close to the washing machine (and not so far from our bedroom) was a giant spider. I mean a tarantula sized spider...smaller body and longer legs, but a very scary fellow. He was probably three-quarters of the size of a hand (even though we all joke about how the spider gets bigger every time we tell the story). I yell for Enoch, but he hates spiders just as much as I do; he goes on and on about what a monster it is and we stare at the thing, at a loss about what to do. We're not about to step on the spider (I mean, who knows how fast the thing runs, or whether it jumps...and for all we know, it is a venomous spider with deadly poison that kills you on the spot). Tony Brewer is in China, so our only backup is Cindy. We call her up to the roof and point out the nasty creature. She stares at it from afar and the three of us just watch, perplexed. After going over our options a few times, we decide that the bug spray that we use on ants might slow it down at least. The benefit to spray is that we can stand back several feet (which we pray is out of jumping range), but the drawback is that we're not talking about some puny little ant.... So Enoch and I head back out, me armed with a shoe (for hurling, not smashing) and Enoch with a can of bug spray in one hand and a shoe in the other. Cindy and the girls watch from behind the safety of the door. (Wimps.) Enoch and I stand there for a while (to psyche ourselves up) then go in for the attack. Enoch starts to spray, and the spider leaps for a nearby hole/drain. I jump back and scream (never having fired my weapon) and Enoch continues to coat the drain, not satisfied until he makes himself sick from the fumes. So we think we're safe...for now. At least nothing is crawling out of that hole for a while.
Yesterday, Enoch and I went out to meet with a Vietnamese gentleman about our website. When we pulled back up to the house, Bi (our Vietnamese housekeeper/cook) was headed out on her motorbike. Bi doesn't speak a word of English and I can't even tell one syllable from the next in Vietnamese, but we can communicate a little bit with sounds and hand gestures. So Bi points to herself, then me, then her motorbike, and makes reeving sounds. I think, sure, why not, and hop on the back of her bike. Soon afterward, I start to second-guess my decision. First, Bi flies (I'm on the back squealing as she narrowly dodges motorbikes, bicycles, and pedestrians; Bi is laughing and mimicking me the whole time). Second, she keeps driving and driving and driving. I don't know if we're going to the market or her house or some unknown place, so I'm on the back taking everything in, trying to figure out how to tell Enoch the way to come and get me. We end up on rough, narrow roads, and finally stop in front of a small house. Bi motions for me to come in.
The house is tiny--concrete, with two dim rooms. In the front room, there is a bed, a broken fan, and an old TV. The second room is a kitchen/washroom, and there are burners on the ground for cooking. The roof is damaged, and there is a cloth drooping from the ceiling as extra protection from the weather. One child is there in the house--the others (two boys and one girl) are at school. The boy I'm introduced to is probably around 15, but not in school because (as best I can tell), he is mentally challenged. Bi's husband is also gone (at work, I assume). Total, there are six people living in two rooms, only one of which a bedroom. Bi communicates the sleeping arrangements to me using pictures: two are in the bed, and four are on the floor. I'm looking at the space in the tiny room and trying to figure out how on earth they fit.
Bi keeps talking in Vietnamese, and gesturing toward the floor. I'm really starting to sweat at this point--does she want me to stay for the night? We are so far away from my house, so it makes sense that she wouldn't want to drive me back. But I can't talk to anybody...and as far as I can tell, there isn't a bathroom...and there will be so many people sleeping on that floor, with no air conditioning, no padding, and who knows what crawling around the house. I'm smiling, trying to make the best of things, and hoping that there is a way out.
About 15 minutes later, my relief comes. Bi starts to make reeving noises again and points to the door. I smile and nod and thank God. On the ride home, I'm quiet. No more squeals of terror, just lost in my thoughts. It is really pitiful that I would be so afraid of spending one night in that house. Here I am in Asia to help people, and I can't take the thought of living the way most Vietnamese people live for 12 hours. I'm ashamed. But I'm learning. Life in Asia is more real to me than ever.
A few days ago (on one of my trips to the clothesline) I discovered that we had a not-so-welcome visitor. Close to the washing machine (and not so far from our bedroom) was a giant spider. I mean a tarantula sized spider...smaller body and longer legs, but a very scary fellow. He was probably three-quarters of the size of a hand (even though we all joke about how the spider gets bigger every time we tell the story). I yell for Enoch, but he hates spiders just as much as I do; he goes on and on about what a monster it is and we stare at the thing, at a loss about what to do. We're not about to step on the spider (I mean, who knows how fast the thing runs, or whether it jumps...and for all we know, it is a venomous spider with deadly poison that kills you on the spot). Tony Brewer is in China, so our only backup is Cindy. We call her up to the roof and point out the nasty creature. She stares at it from afar and the three of us just watch, perplexed. After going over our options a few times, we decide that the bug spray that we use on ants might slow it down at least. The benefit to spray is that we can stand back several feet (which we pray is out of jumping range), but the drawback is that we're not talking about some puny little ant.... So Enoch and I head back out, me armed with a shoe (for hurling, not smashing) and Enoch with a can of bug spray in one hand and a shoe in the other. Cindy and the girls watch from behind the safety of the door. (Wimps.) Enoch and I stand there for a while (to psyche ourselves up) then go in for the attack. Enoch starts to spray, and the spider leaps for a nearby hole/drain. I jump back and scream (never having fired my weapon) and Enoch continues to coat the drain, not satisfied until he makes himself sick from the fumes. So we think we're safe...for now. At least nothing is crawling out of that hole for a while.
Yesterday, Enoch and I went out to meet with a Vietnamese gentleman about our website. When we pulled back up to the house, Bi (our Vietnamese housekeeper/cook) was headed out on her motorbike. Bi doesn't speak a word of English and I can't even tell one syllable from the next in Vietnamese, but we can communicate a little bit with sounds and hand gestures. So Bi points to herself, then me, then her motorbike, and makes reeving sounds. I think, sure, why not, and hop on the back of her bike. Soon afterward, I start to second-guess my decision. First, Bi flies (I'm on the back squealing as she narrowly dodges motorbikes, bicycles, and pedestrians; Bi is laughing and mimicking me the whole time). Second, she keeps driving and driving and driving. I don't know if we're going to the market or her house or some unknown place, so I'm on the back taking everything in, trying to figure out how to tell Enoch the way to come and get me. We end up on rough, narrow roads, and finally stop in front of a small house. Bi motions for me to come in.
The house is tiny--concrete, with two dim rooms. In the front room, there is a bed, a broken fan, and an old TV. The second room is a kitchen/washroom, and there are burners on the ground for cooking. The roof is damaged, and there is a cloth drooping from the ceiling as extra protection from the weather. One child is there in the house--the others (two boys and one girl) are at school. The boy I'm introduced to is probably around 15, but not in school because (as best I can tell), he is mentally challenged. Bi's husband is also gone (at work, I assume). Total, there are six people living in two rooms, only one of which a bedroom. Bi communicates the sleeping arrangements to me using pictures: two are in the bed, and four are on the floor. I'm looking at the space in the tiny room and trying to figure out how on earth they fit.
Bi keeps talking in Vietnamese, and gesturing toward the floor. I'm really starting to sweat at this point--does she want me to stay for the night? We are so far away from my house, so it makes sense that she wouldn't want to drive me back. But I can't talk to anybody...and as far as I can tell, there isn't a bathroom...and there will be so many people sleeping on that floor, with no air conditioning, no padding, and who knows what crawling around the house. I'm smiling, trying to make the best of things, and hoping that there is a way out.
About 15 minutes later, my relief comes. Bi starts to make reeving noises again and points to the door. I smile and nod and thank God. On the ride home, I'm quiet. No more squeals of terror, just lost in my thoughts. It is really pitiful that I would be so afraid of spending one night in that house. Here I am in Asia to help people, and I can't take the thought of living the way most Vietnamese people live for 12 hours. I'm ashamed. But I'm learning. Life in Asia is more real to me than ever.
Friday, July 18, 2008
Stories
Well, we've had a wonderful but hard week. We're spending a lot of one on one time with the children and their families. We are learning their stories. The children bless us...but it is so tough. Sometimes I wonder if I'm strong enough for this. Up until recently I had been handling things pretty well, but sometimes I just break down. They tell us about being abused, about being left, about being starved. And the way they live...these children live in trash, literally. Most of the houses only have one room (two if they are nice), yet they have up to 10 people living inside each of them. All around is a watery, soupy muck--moldy trash floats in the shallow water, but the children run through it barefoot. The strong scents of decay and sewage are in the air. You feel horrified, disgusted, furious, heartbroken, and helpless, a stream of emotions hitting you one after another in quick succession.
A lady came into the school the other day with two children. She lives just outside the school's walls in a small, flimsy shack. She was so, so thin. And she had two children. One appeared to have cerebral palsy. He didn't have clothes. She wanted me to hold him.
Meanwhile, her little girl keeps speaking to her in Khmer, crying. Her mother speaks sternly to the child, motioning "No, no". Then the boy on my lap starts asking her for something. She answers him, too, "No, no". I look at her, and she signs that they want food. A little while later, the girl starts to eat the mud on the ground. I just couldn't take it.
It is unbelievable here. I want to help, but sometimes it is all I can do not to say, "Please don't tell me anymore stories right now".
Please pray for this place. And pray for us.
A lady came into the school the other day with two children. She lives just outside the school's walls in a small, flimsy shack. She was so, so thin. And she had two children. One appeared to have cerebral palsy. He didn't have clothes. She wanted me to hold him.
Meanwhile, her little girl keeps speaking to her in Khmer, crying. Her mother speaks sternly to the child, motioning "No, no". Then the boy on my lap starts asking her for something. She answers him, too, "No, no". I look at her, and she signs that they want food. A little while later, the girl starts to eat the mud on the ground. I just couldn't take it.
It is unbelievable here. I want to help, but sometimes it is all I can do not to say, "Please don't tell me anymore stories right now".
Please pray for this place. And pray for us.
Thursday, July 10, 2008
Cambodia
Enoch and I are in Cambodia right now. We have been here since last Friday, and we're just thoroughly enjoying ourselves.
First off, Cambodia is actually a little cooler than Vietnam. Since Phnom Penh is closer to the equator than Danang, my only explanation is that it must be less humid here. Either way, it is nice.This is the rainy season in Cambodia, so it rains every afternoon for 1-3 hours. The rain is pretty intense, but afterwards the air is so cool...I love it.
Whereas religion in Vietnam was subtle, behind the scenes, Buddhism is everywhere in Cambodia. The streets are full of monks in their full garb--orange robes, shaved heads and all. All of the public places that I've been in (with the exception of the church and Orphan Voice's school) have little shrines to Buddha in them. People will actually burn incense, kneel, and pray right in the middle of public places.
There is so much poverty in Cambodia. For those of you who are familiar with Orphan Voice's ministry in Phnom Penh, you know that we are specifically ministering to children who live and work in dumps right outside of the city. We've been with them all week in a Bible Camp of sorts. Thanks to the work of Meng Aun and Rady, our Cambodian contacts, most of the children have already accepted Christ as their savior. We're hoping that during our time here we can meet their physical needs (including providing them with a good education), disciple them, and teach them how to share Jesus with others. In most cases, the families of these children do not yet know Jesus. Next week, Enoch and I are going to visit many of the homes. We're praying that we'll have opportunities to share God's love with them when we go. Please pray with us.
Friday, June 20, 2008
Home
Enoch and I have settled into our new home in Danang, Vietnam, and all is well. We (me, Enoch, and the Brewer family of seven) are living in half of a duplex. It is big by Vietnamese standards, but there are a lot of us. Plus, Duc (our contact in Vietnam), his wife Lynn, and their child Sally are over from breakfast to supper every day. The landlord (who lives in the other half of the duplex) invites himself over frequently...and there's a lady from Duc's church who is helping...so the place is full of activity.
We found out quickly that life here is very different than what we're accustomed to. Not bad, necessarily, just different…an adjustment.
There is no tub with our shower—just a nozzle on one wall of the bathroom—so the entire floor fills with water. This means that we soon have muddy footprints all over the bathroom...and, if we're not careful, the other rooms.
The front doors of our house are left open so that air will circulate (this is customary in Vietnam), but that is an invitation for critters to visit. We had our first encounter with Vietnamese roaches. We have only seen a handful, but that is enough—they are 2½ inches long and an inch wide. The house is full of ants (which bite); and our neighbor's dogs have chased rats from our house twice.
Speaking of the dogs, "Cafe" and "Basille" frequent our home…especially during mealtime. These dogs are hungry not only for table scraps, but also for flip flops. In Vietnam, you leave your shoes at the door. Unfortunately, this is perfect for our canine friends. I have lost four pairs of shoes to their insatiable appetite for foot odor.
Enoch says that Danang is "Danang hot". I've given up on makeup--I sweat it off as quickly as I put it on. We have to be careful to drink a lot of water, because you lose liquids very fast. Our bedroom does have an air conditioner, so it is a blessing to be able to retreat to it from time to time. When we go out into the hall, though, the heat takes our breath away. Probably we would be better off to go without it, but I haven't had the courage to turn it off.
We're eating lots of seafood—almost every meal. So far, I've had squid, eel, shrimp, crab, various types of unidentified fish (sometimes the whole fish—head, fins and all), and frog (if that counts as seafood; it is semi-aquatic, anyway). It is good, but we do crave American food. We found some Pringles at one of the stores, and we've been gobbling them up. Actually, they may be gone.
Enoch visited the market yesterday and I went today. People in this area go every day to buy food. Every refrigerator that I've seen here has been dorm room-sized…I guess there is no need for any more space. For those of you from Mt. Sterling, the markets have a Court Day feel to them—several booths with assorted items for sell, everything from trinkets to dried fish to clothes. They also seem to house rats and spiders. ;)
Vietnamese traffic is a little frightening. The roads are a mix of cars, motorbikes, bicycles, and occasionally livestock. There is a herd of cattle that meanders by our house each day...down the street right through the traffic. Our landlord took Enoch for a ride on his motorbike yesterday, so he had an up close and personal experience with the madness. I don't think Enoch is eager to head out on his own anytime soon.
We found out quickly that life here is very different than what we're accustomed to. Not bad, necessarily, just different…an adjustment.
There is no tub with our shower—just a nozzle on one wall of the bathroom—so the entire floor fills with water. This means that we soon have muddy footprints all over the bathroom...and, if we're not careful, the other rooms.
The front doors of our house are left open so that air will circulate (this is customary in Vietnam), but that is an invitation for critters to visit. We had our first encounter with Vietnamese roaches. We have only seen a handful, but that is enough—they are 2½ inches long and an inch wide. The house is full of ants (which bite); and our neighbor's dogs have chased rats from our house twice.
Speaking of the dogs, "Cafe" and "Basille" frequent our home…especially during mealtime. These dogs are hungry not only for table scraps, but also for flip flops. In Vietnam, you leave your shoes at the door. Unfortunately, this is perfect for our canine friends. I have lost four pairs of shoes to their insatiable appetite for foot odor.
Enoch says that Danang is "Danang hot". I've given up on makeup--I sweat it off as quickly as I put it on. We have to be careful to drink a lot of water, because you lose liquids very fast. Our bedroom does have an air conditioner, so it is a blessing to be able to retreat to it from time to time. When we go out into the hall, though, the heat takes our breath away. Probably we would be better off to go without it, but I haven't had the courage to turn it off.
We're eating lots of seafood—almost every meal. So far, I've had squid, eel, shrimp, crab, various types of unidentified fish (sometimes the whole fish—head, fins and all), and frog (if that counts as seafood; it is semi-aquatic, anyway). It is good, but we do crave American food. We found some Pringles at one of the stores, and we've been gobbling them up. Actually, they may be gone.
Enoch visited the market yesterday and I went today. People in this area go every day to buy food. Every refrigerator that I've seen here has been dorm room-sized…I guess there is no need for any more space. For those of you from Mt. Sterling, the markets have a Court Day feel to them—several booths with assorted items for sell, everything from trinkets to dried fish to clothes. They also seem to house rats and spiders. ;)
Vietnamese traffic is a little frightening. The roads are a mix of cars, motorbikes, bicycles, and occasionally livestock. There is a herd of cattle that meanders by our house each day...down the street right through the traffic. Our landlord took Enoch for a ride on his motorbike yesterday, so he had an up close and personal experience with the madness. I don't think Enoch is eager to head out on his own anytime soon.
We are enjoying the adventure of our new life, challenges and all. God is opening many doors to us here, and we are excited about the possibilities.
Thursday, March 27, 2008
Fear
Fear is something that I used to really struggle with. I say "used to" because God has not given us a spirit of fear--we have victory over that....but every now and then I forget about the victory. Every now and then I start to feel this little twinge of doubt, the dark shadow of fear creeping into the back of my thoughts....
The other night we were lying in bed and Enoch asks me, out of the blue, "Marissa, what am I going to do in Cambodia?" So I answer him, listing off all of his gifts, naming the various needs of our ministry, trying my best to be comforting. And it seems to satisfy him. But I sense a shadow in my mind. What are we going to do? What if they don't need us? What if we're in the way and we're more trouble than help? What if we hate it? What if it is miserably sticky without relief, and lonely, and the food is yucky, and there are spiders and snakes all over the place, and the children don't like us, and we can't understand anyone and nobody can understand us and we can't understand God and we can't hear Him and..... I stop and remember that God called us to go. I remember the confirmations. I remember that we're in His hands. And I fall asleep.
Maybe two days ago we were watching a teaching video and this guy was illustrating spiritual truths with an eagle. The preacher says that when eagles are pairing up to mate, the male has to pass a series of tests in order to gain the approval of the female. One test is that the two fly thousands of feet up in the air, the male circling the female and the female carrying a stick. After a time, the female drops the stick; the male's test is to dive down, flying faster than the stick is falling, in order to retrieve it.
The speaker says that scientists puzzle over why the female chooses this particular test, but that he has studied the birds and he thinks he knows the reason for the peculiar behavior. When young eaglets are big enough to learn to fly, they are often reluctant to do so. The mother bird takes them out of the nest one by one, carrying them on her wings. The father flies close by, circling overhead. When the mother senses that the time is right, she tilts her wings, dropping the young from her back. The young birds flutter and fall closer to the ground. Sometimes, the eaglets hold their wings just right and catch the wind, floating, soaring. Othertimes, they struggle and continue their plummit...but their father is there and he can fly faster than they can fall. The male dives and catches his children in his mighty talons, bringing them back to the safety of the mother's back.
The speaker then applies the illustration to our lives as Christians. Some of us are perfectly happy in our nest; it is comfortable there. We don't have to worry about our food, because we are fed by others. We don't have to worry what we're going to do or when we're going to do it, because we just stay in place where everything is familiar. And this is good...for a season. But eventually it is time for us to step out on our own. It is time to feed ourselves, and eventually to feed other eaglets. In our life, it is time for Enoch and me to move into the ministry which God planned for us. It is time for us to grow up, spiritually speaking. We have just been sitting back and letting everyone else feed us spiritual food, while God has called us feed others. It is a little scary to leave the nest, but our Father is watching...and if we fall, He can fly even faster.
The other night we were lying in bed and Enoch asks me, out of the blue, "Marissa, what am I going to do in Cambodia?" So I answer him, listing off all of his gifts, naming the various needs of our ministry, trying my best to be comforting. And it seems to satisfy him. But I sense a shadow in my mind. What are we going to do? What if they don't need us? What if we're in the way and we're more trouble than help? What if we hate it? What if it is miserably sticky without relief, and lonely, and the food is yucky, and there are spiders and snakes all over the place, and the children don't like us, and we can't understand anyone and nobody can understand us and we can't understand God and we can't hear Him and..... I stop and remember that God called us to go. I remember the confirmations. I remember that we're in His hands. And I fall asleep.
Maybe two days ago we were watching a teaching video and this guy was illustrating spiritual truths with an eagle. The preacher says that when eagles are pairing up to mate, the male has to pass a series of tests in order to gain the approval of the female. One test is that the two fly thousands of feet up in the air, the male circling the female and the female carrying a stick. After a time, the female drops the stick; the male's test is to dive down, flying faster than the stick is falling, in order to retrieve it.
The speaker says that scientists puzzle over why the female chooses this particular test, but that he has studied the birds and he thinks he knows the reason for the peculiar behavior. When young eaglets are big enough to learn to fly, they are often reluctant to do so. The mother bird takes them out of the nest one by one, carrying them on her wings. The father flies close by, circling overhead. When the mother senses that the time is right, she tilts her wings, dropping the young from her back. The young birds flutter and fall closer to the ground. Sometimes, the eaglets hold their wings just right and catch the wind, floating, soaring. Othertimes, they struggle and continue their plummit...but their father is there and he can fly faster than they can fall. The male dives and catches his children in his mighty talons, bringing them back to the safety of the mother's back.
The speaker then applies the illustration to our lives as Christians. Some of us are perfectly happy in our nest; it is comfortable there. We don't have to worry about our food, because we are fed by others. We don't have to worry what we're going to do or when we're going to do it, because we just stay in place where everything is familiar. And this is good...for a season. But eventually it is time for us to step out on our own. It is time to feed ourselves, and eventually to feed other eaglets. In our life, it is time for Enoch and me to move into the ministry which God planned for us. It is time for us to grow up, spiritually speaking. We have just been sitting back and letting everyone else feed us spiritual food, while God has called us feed others. It is a little scary to leave the nest, but our Father is watching...and if we fall, He can fly even faster.
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