I have seen a lot of tears this week.

They are signs of so many deep and personal things: 

revelation, repentance and rescue, weariness, sorrow and suffering.

“I have heard your prayers, I have seen your tears” – 2 Kings 20:5

I collect them in my memory, 

I soak my hard heart in them 

and I pour them over the sacrifices of prayer 

like the wine offerings of Israel’s priests.

Some tears rise up slowly like water from an overflowing well 

and others flowed like streams erupting from fortified banks.

Some were discovered only after approaching gently to the face of an overwhelmed mother. Her resolve to be “ok” and “in control” was betrayed by a rogue tear slipping out of the corner of her eye, 

wiped away quickly with frustration at being exposed.

There were tears at the altars, hands upraised, faces wet with showers of living water quenching arid souls.

“You keep track of all my sorrows. You have collected all my tears in your bottle. You have recorded each one in your book.”-Psalms‬ ‭56‬:‭8‬ ‭

Then the sobs that come from men clinging to me. 

Sons who haven’t heard a Father’s word of hope and blessing in so very long. 

Young men who crumple into your chest like long lost prodigals finally returning home.

Salty tears of trouble from verdicts of doom, danger or desperation…trembling terrors.

It’s difficult to carry the weight of weeping. 

They are a mystery of physics, 

how something so light on the cheeks, 

can feel so profoundly gargantuan in the soul.

All that was made of Earth came out from the waters of chaos 

and all that’s is remade from Heaven is birthed in sacred streams.

Ministry is wading through the rising rivers flowing from 

the Temple of God and like Ezekiel’s experience, 

it’s precarious and difficult to ford. 

One can drown in the floods if left to oneself. 

Thankfully Jesus meets us in the wild waters through the Word, prayer and worship. 

He rescues the rescuers too, 

and sees every tear that escapes or is held deep in the reservoir of our hearts and minds waiting for release.

“He will wipe every tear from their eyes, and there will be no more death or sorrow or crying or pain. All these things are gone forever.” -Revelation‬ ‭21‬:‭4‬ ‭

Pastor Eric. 

 

 Greatest of all is when the innocent child matures into a virtuous adult and then, being exposed to the harsh realities of life, they, in faith, apply their virtue and become vessels of love and sacrifice. 

Paul exhorts us to - "receive them in the Lord with all joy, and honor such, for they nearly died for the work of Christ..." 

There are countless unsung heroes we may never know, and there are some we do. 

They forever change us..... 

 

Is God on the side of the poor?

"If God is passionate about the poor, does that mean that he is on the side of the poor?

Some speak of God’s bias, or preference for, or solidarity with the poor.

Is it appropriate to speak like that in this context?

First, God is not biased. ‘There is no favoritism with him’ (Eph 6:9)

God does not care more about the salvation of the poor than the rich.

Secondly, material poverty is not the biblical ideal.

Scripture upholds the ideal that there should be no poor in the land (Deut 15:4).

Thirdly, being poor and oppressed does not in itself make people members of the church.

The poor need to repent and be saved by God’s grace just as much as the wealthy.

God is concerned about justice,

and so, while God shows no partiality,

he is also not neutral in situations of justice.

Specifically, because God is not biased pursuing justice,

God favors the poor who are either victims of injustice

or find themselves in a position in which they are powerless to resist the oppression of the powerful.

In that sense,

God is on the side of the poor.

He has a special concern for them because of their vulnerability.”

 

Are you considering divorce??

We all know how divorce impacts children and how we should do all in our power to prevent it. God hates the sorrow divorce causes. 

To add some incentive to make it work, let me share this candid confession about things divorce causes that we often overlook. 

"I don't know what I'm looking for here, maybe advice maybe just to vent and get it out in a group where people don't know me.

I'm okay with being done with him. 

I don't even like him anymore. 

I don't miss sharing a bed intimately 

or even being next to him, 

the things he's done have officially made me okay with no longer having him as my husband or friend even. Whatever.

 

It's the rest of the life I have with him that I’ll miss, and struggle to let go of. 

I don't mean monetarily, we're poor as paupers and already barely getting by.

 But.

Will I find a place I can afford 

and be able to keep my cats? 

Will I have to go to the laundromat again because of not having washer/dryer hookups? 

Will 'our' friendships become everyone picking one or the other of us?

 No more game night. 

No more seeing my awesome stepson, or my oldest daughter actually having a father figure.

No more close relationship with my mother-in-law that I love who has been there for me as a real mom when mine was not. 

No more sister-in-law and her kids, that I truly consider family. 

No more fireworks and summer parties and playing hostess with the mostest. 

No more Luna the dog, 

because the cats are 'more mine' 

the dog is 'more his'. 

No more vacations or hikes or bonfires or cookouts with friends. 

No more rummy with father-in-law, while talking smack and passing the peace pipe. 

No more - he's home to deal with kids, so I can go anywhere from the store to a friend's house kid free.

No more of those rare 'extras' of fun, things that make life bearable because there will be no money. 

No more flexible work schedule 

allowing me to see my kids longer than just to feed them and send them to bed because I'd need a second job and set hours. 

And will I be able to afford good health care? 

No more of so many things that have made me enjoy my life 

and keep me from being miserable 

when I look at the state of the world around me.

So no, 

no more nights of crying myself to sleep after him yelling at me 

and using my past traumas against me to be cruel.

 But, if I'm crying myself to sleep even more often from other things and missing my life, is it really better?

I have to decide which version of miserable I prefer. 

I never wanted it to come to this. 

I can't believe this is my life."

 *Trigger Warning* suicide

.

.

Suicide, such a tragedy… 

If someone you know and love has taken their life, 

you know it leaves us eternally changed.

 

If you are considering suicide, please get help.

Don’t wait till the depression gets too strong to resist. 

 

The words to this song, by Ren Gill, begin to describe the thoughts of those left behind in the shadow of suicide. 

“I guess there's some that's born lucky, 

there's some that's not

I tried to cut away my bitterness, hatchet job

I locked my youth in a trunk inside a pick-up truck

Then dumped the whole thing over the same bridge 

the night you jumped

I think about that sometimes, vividly

What it felt like to look down and see tranquility

One sudden movement in a world of possibility

Only one movement to expose our fragility

I f***ing miss you, and I miss myself

I miss thinking we were indestructible as well

I miss chilling by the pier cave and kicking back

With Callum, Hugo, Sagar, Justin, Stevie and the f***in' lads

I miss missing that, I numbed myself to close the gap

I never even call them up, the distance is my plaster cast

The truth is that the day you jumped 

my childhood jumped too

But I still can't find the anger all I find is 

missing you

Man, I miss you with all my rhymes

I picture running five minutes quicker, I'm right on time

I picture pulling you back over the edge and then we're crying

And holding you my brother and telling you that it's fine

That's not the way that I worked 

'cause I was late like a jerk

There's not a day where I could find a way to break from the hurt

Your body missing so we never got to wave to the hearse

I hope you're listening; I love you man, I miss you absurd...

National suicide hotline – 988

Jesuscares.com -  Real Time chat

 https://www.jesuscares.com/chat?gad_source=1&gclid=CjwKCAjw9IayBhBJEiwAVuc3fpxf2h8bbCnjDJD2LQxkb5pn1EOoZ8z8dP4JxGdgnpQPcVzo3wtSRhoCbBAQAvD_BwE

 If you have an interest in the jail ministries, here is a candid peek into the work written by my son, Pastor Eric of Jacob's Well, Spokane Wa.

"We have the privilege of serving in four centers every month where women, men and children find refuge from the hells, horrors and hardships of life. They are a flock of all kinds of sheep and I know that Jesus loves them all, but that doesn’t mean everyone is easy to love.

They impact me and I carry them not just as stories but as people who become part of my life of prayer.

Precious stones in a priestly vestment worn over my heart (Exodus 28).

Sometime I lay my hand over these stones on my chest and sigh.

At other moments I weep, sing, groan or set verses on fire in hopes that the light will push back the darkness.

Sometimes the tongues of Angels fill the space between thought and word.

Here’s a few of these sheep to pray for:

Unapproachable Ursula: Sitting in the hard plastic chair at the far corner, head in her hands, curled in on herself like a turtle without her shell.

Mad Melanie: She’s Medusa, trapped here by the rule of mandatory chapel attendance. Her cold death glare is like striking serpents. Her eyes searching to freeze my resolve to sever her from her abuses, betrayals, deceptions, and destructions.

Running Rachel: The desperate mother clinging to her child, fleeing the Herod who has bloodied hands and wicked intent.

Medicated Mary: Slow with words, hesitant to allow you to know she’s willing to be approached. Reaching for her is like talking underwater. She clings to your words like someone drowning in a calm but icy sea..slipping away, numb, frozen and sinking.

Hemorrhaging Heather: Her wounds are gushing. A punctured soul artery has volunteer’s hands of prayer clasped over her desperations trying to stop the hemorrhage.

Jerking Judy: Coming into the room multiple ways at the same time. Meth aftershocks, body tremors like marionette strings being yanked by some unseen entity. I hear the lost girl in the voice of a lost woman ravaged by the dark genie that rose from a smoking pipe.

Worshipping Wendy: Others sit with hands under thighs, she stands with arms extended, hands reaching to the hem of God’s garment.

Dawn’s healing light has broken on her face and her singing fills the room with off key power like Noah must of heard from his doves.

Ezekiel‬ ‭34‬:‭11‬-‭12‬, ‭16‬, ‭25‬ “The LORD God proclaims: I myself will search for my flock and seek them out. As a shepherd seeks out the flock when some in the flock have been scattered, so will I seek out my flock. I will rescue them from all the places where they were scattered during the time of clouds and thick darkness. I will seek out the lost, bring back the strays, bind up the wounded, and strengthen the weak…I will make a covenant of peace for them, and I will banish the wild animals from the land. Then they will safely live in the desert and sleep in the forest.”

 "I find myself sitting in the parking lot at Kroger trying to compose myself.

You see, while inside getting groceries,

I came upon a little girl prancing down the isle making a crazy noise.

I turned around to see this young lady wearing massive boots compared to her tiny body.

At first I just giggled and continued shopping.

I ended up in the check out lane behind her and her mother.

As good southerners do, we struck up conversation.

I told the little girl that I liked her boots.

She had a massive grin on her face and began to speak.

She let me know that those boots belonged to her Daddy.

Today would have been his birthday,

but he was killed last year in 'Afghan Stan.'

To feel better about today, she was allowed to wear his boots.

As her mom started to cry, so did I, as did the cashier.

Apparently, the gentleman behind me heard the story and gave the little girl a cupcake out of the dozen he was buying.

He told the little girl to always eat a cupcake for her dad's birthday.

He told her that her dad was a hero

and that she should be proud to be his daughter.

Please remember why we are able to celebrate America.

Let's stop to think about those who protect the freedom that we often take for granted!"

Post by Sarah Cooper.

The decline and downward fall of the soul

The grand defect of the "natural consequences" of depravity in this life is, that in great measure it is unconsciously incurred, the natural consequences of the downward fall of the soul is they do not operate as punishments, so they awaken no shame of demerit; rather, it is a gradual blunting of moral sensibility, the fading of noble enthusiasms, the frosting over of generous affections , the deterioration and decay of the will, which appall and sadden the observers, but are unfelt by the degenerate himself; and his loss, thought little less then infinite, is in the form of unknown privation, not of redeeming pain. 

It is the essence of guilty declension to administer its own anesthetics;  subtilely beginning by making the soul the depository of all the desires and habits to which I chiefly cling. 

Have I shut myself in some nest of selfishness, and become the willing dupe of vain excuse for neglected duty, and stifled compassion, and omitted sacrifice? At last to see, when it's too late, all that I might have been and done." 

James Martineau.   

 

To the cross, to the cross I cling! 

"Has not the crucifix become for ages the symbol of grief divinely born? 

Has it not, generation after generation, been hidden in the bosoms of thousands, sustaining the soul of self-denial, and reminding them not to faint beneath the cross of life? 

Has it not met the eye of many a lonely captive, and beguiled him to forget his chains, and from its meek image spread through his dungeon the holiest light?

Has it not kept watch with the  mother by night, as she bent over her sick child, and been to her soul as a star amid the infinite darkness of her sorrow? 

Pressed to the lips of the living, and softly laid upon the breast of the dying. 

It has warmed the love of the Christian while he stays, and given him trust when 'tis time to go."

James Martineau.