Hold on to your heart

Hold on to your heart
though others may say
a big heart
will just bring pain one day

Hold on to it
though so many believe
it's better to rip it out
while you grieve

The Maker rejoices
when searching he sees
One heart that still
refuses to freeze

One heart unashamed
to know others' pain
That for so many, so often,
dying is gain

One heart that can still
rejoice in a small
victory that to others
may not matter at all

One heart that can still
with warmth wrap its arm
around another
who can return nothing but harm

One heart that is steady
assured, brave, and strong
to stay and fight
when leaving wouldn't be wrong

Don't listen to those
who would have you hide
who are made uncomfortable
by your lack of pride

Don't listen to those
who think it is strange
that you leave such power
in such close range

When a heart is on fire
it can raise dry bones
bring life from death
warm flesh from stones

Some think it a danger
inconvenient to care
But their cold hearts are now
even now in death's snare

The heart is a weakness
or so it's perceived
but only by the heart
has one ever believed

And only by love
can we overcome hate
can we overcome death
and re-learn to create

So hold on to your heart
though the whole world may mock
though your cross may become
a laughingstock

Your heart is a treasure
a wellspring to guard
to cultivate and nurture -

Don't let it grow hard.

Becky's Top 5 Funny Bible Verses

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Sometimes when I am reading the Bible to gain wisdom, insight, conviction, etc., I also gain some laughter. Here are a few verses that crack me up, in no particular order.

1. Proverbs 25:16

If you find honey, eat just enough--too much of it, and you will vomit.


Actually, it's funnier in the King James version: 
Hast thou found honey? eat so much as is sufficient for thee, lest thou be filled therewith, and vomit it.


Wise words, wise words.

2. Proverbs 27:14

If a man loudly blesses his neighbor early in the morning, it will be taken as a curse.


Yes. I wholeheartedly agree with this statement.

3. Proverbs 25:17

Seldom set foot in your neighbor's house--too much of you, and he will hate you.


'Nuff said.

4. Numbers 22:30

The donkey said to Balaam, “Am I not your own donkey, which you have always ridden, to this day? Have I been in the habit of doing this to you?" "No," he said.


("No?" That's it? I would've jumped off that donkey and been like OMG A TALKING DONKEY!!!)

Again, funnier in King James:

And the ass said unto Balaam, Am not I thine ass, upon which thou hast ridden ever since I was thine unto this day? was I ever wont to do so unto thee? and he said, Nay.

And he said, Nay. That's funny just by itself. 

Especially since he's talking to a donkey and not a horse...I mean, come on. It should be "And he said, Bray."

5. Acts 2:15

This one needs some background info. So after the Holy Spirit makes it raaaaain (fire, that is), the apostles start speaking in a bunch of different languages they don't know in front of tons of people. Crazy stuff. Since everyone in the crowd knows these aren't ridiculously educated men who just happen to know every language in the known world, they say, "They have had too much wine!" in 2:13. (Seriously, get me some of that wine if it can make me talk in a language I don't know...it would be a lot of help while living overseas!) Peter, of course, gets up and corrects them, but in what way? Does he give a sermon on the sinfulness of being drunk? Does he get offended at the thought that such holy men of God could possibly be drunk? Here's how he reasons: 

"These men are not drunk... It's only nine in the morning!"

Can't argue with that.

Honorable Mention

Another one that didn't make the top five but that is definitely an honorable mention is Acts 20:9, in which  Paul rambles on for so long that a young guy named Eutychus actually falls asleep on the windowsill and then falls out and dies. Don't worry, Paul raises him back to life afterwards. No big deal. But parents who really don't want their kids to fall asleep in church should definitely read them this for a bedtime story!

The Hard Places

from the book Kisses from Katie by Katie Davis, p. 252


"I have learned along my journey that if I really want to follow Jesus, I will go to the hard places. Being a Christ follower means being acquainted with sorrow. We must know sorrow to be able to fully appreciate joy. Joy costs pain, but the pain is worth it. After all, the murder had to take place before the resurrection.

I'll be honest: The hard places can seem unbearable. It's dark and it's scary, and even though I know God said He will never leave or forsake me, sometimes it's so dark that I just can't see Him. But then the most incredible thing happens: God take me by the hand and walks me straight out of the hard place and into the beauty on the other side. He whispers to me to be thankful, that even this will be for His good.

It takes a while sometimes, coming out of the dark place. Sometimes God and I come out into a desert and he has to carry me through that too. Sometimes I slip a lot on the way out and He has to keep coming back to get me. Always, on the other side is something beautiful, because He has used the hard places to increase my sense of urgency and to align my desires with His. I realize that it was there that He was closest to me, even in the times when I didn't see Him. I realize that the hard places are good because it is there that I gained more wisdom, and though with wisdom comes sorrow, on the other side of sorrow is joy. And a funny thing happens when I realize this: I want to go to the hard place again. Again and again and again.

So we go. This is where our family is today and where I hope to stay - loving, because He first loved us. Going into the hard places, entering into the sorrow because He entered for us first and because by His grace, redemption and beauty are on the other side."

When I Saw the Throne

When I finally saw the throne and the One on it, I stared for about a thousand years. There's no telling, really, and I don't care how long it was, only that my soul was full and my heart was light. The awe took many forms. Sometimes I laughed and lifted my hands with joy, sometimes I lay flat on the floor and let his power roll over me in waves. Sometimes, though, he withheld his great power and instead washed me with love like thin water and white foam trickling over my outstretched body on a sandy beach, gently rinsing my former self away, never to be seen again. Sometimes it took the form of a breeze rippling over my skin and blowing wisps of hair out of my face as though I were lying in soft grass on a sunny day. Sometimes I danced and sang before him, and his approval felt better than the roar of a thundering crowd. He took such great delight in my songs. Never judging, always delighting.

I could have basked there for an endless river of eternities, soaking in the glory and fullness of the One on that throne, but I walked down the shining road to see my other loved ones. Unlike that broken place I had journeyed through for those few short years, I had many loved ones here - millions, in fact. And we finally knew what love was. Our hearts were all one and pounding with such passion and adoration that the power generated could create universes - in fact, it might have. I knew the One on the throne was always creating things, because creating, whether with wisdom or hands, brought him such great delight.

I could no longer really remember that former place, but I knew without a doubt that no love there had been like this. Any of its love had been only a shadow of what was to come. Millions of souls, countless heavenly beings, colors heretofore unknown and an endless chorus of languages and voices...all in perfect unity with each other and the King. Oh, the King...he was what held us all together. I could sing about him forever, in an endless number of languages, and never come close to how good he really is. I never knew before that the planets and the stars also had voices, that the whole universe had been quivering with joy before the One on the throne. The worries of the old earth had deafened so many souls, but here we finally had ears. If only I'd known how good he really was when I walked through that shadowy place for those few short years, if only I could have heard the praises the trees and waters and stars were singing each day...I'd have laughed through every storm.

Even those who were never married on earth were married now, and knew the joy of being the most beloved and beautiful Bride...together we felt what it was to be invited into - no, swept up in - that strong, passionate, joyful heart, and the glorious thrill of pleasure when the door was opened to his fierce love and to his never-ending feast. I thought I had been a bride on earth, but I had never been dressed in white until now. Oh the unspeakable joy of heaven standing open! Of its gates not being closed to me! I knew what I had been...I saw, momentarily, the fate I had deserved, and dark hands clutching at my soul...but the instant I had begun to fear, a curtain of blood had streamed down in front of me, and the hands could not penetrate it. Then the curtain had wrapped itself around me, swaddled me like a baby's clothes...and yet its blood did not stain. This was the only blood I had ever seen that made me whiter at its touch, that did not stain my hands with guilt but rather sponged that guilt away until I shone like a star. I saw Christ's blood streaming in the firmament...and yet, rather than leaving me groping helplessly for the drops, jumping up and down like a madman, the drops rained down and met me.


Then, that same red curtain curtain parted to reveal a shining white horse with a rider called Faithful and True. As soon as I saw his eyes...as soon as I saw his eyes I knew that I was pursued with a longing and desire more jealous than the grave and more passionate than my deepest affections. Faithful and True pulled me up and we rode away so that the pit with the clutching hands was no longer in sight. Its arms will forever be too short to overcome the Rider's jealous love. Once I saw his deep, penetrating eyes and his strong shoulders I could think of nothing else. The indescribable joy of being fully known and yet fully loved! Never tinged with a fear of being abandoned, because his very Name was Faithful. What had that shadowy place known of faithful? What had I ever known of faithful?

Yet deep in my heart, even in my darkest moments, I'd always known this must be true. This must be the truth; that shadowy place was the lie. And now that I could see it, now that I could fully know Him as I'd always been fully known, now that I could see and touch his face, I knew without a doubt that I would never see a shadow again. Forever, my vision would be clear. And forever, truth would reign because the deceiver of the nations was finally destroyed.

Some may have said this vision wasn't real, that the ways of the shadowy place were unchanging; but here with the only Unchanging One I finally saw the wolf graze with the lamb, and I saw the lion rest in their company. Here I saw the man feed the ox but never put a burden on its back, except occasionally a small laughing child who loved that now-burdenless beast. The children who had always wondered what a lion's wondrous mane would feel like finally got to touch and stroke it without fear, and the lion nuzzled them like one of its cubs. Both animals and humans had stopped preying on each other...and somehow I'd always known this was how things were supposed to be, that this was right and good.

The One on the throne had grieved over that shadowy place. Oh, how he'd grieved over all the lives that were wasted because they had no food, or had no one to love them. So many had been deceived and given up their birthrights as heirs to creation and the glorious honor of creating. So many others been robbed of their creative breath by disease or hunger. How many of us had given up our mantles as image-bearers and fallen into destruction or apathy. But here I saw those who had been deceived into being men of brutality plowing soil and picking fruit; I saw those who had fearfully destroyed other men laughing and dancing with children; I saw those who had annihilated the old earth tending and delighting in the new one. I saw children who'd died for lack of water splashing around in the everlasting spring and rafting down the crystal river, where anyone could come and drink without cost.

The One on the throne now lived with us and within us; there was no separation. The hand of the Father and the hands of earth, which had been reaching for each other for so long, had not only touched but become one. The desire of every heart was filled, and every chasm was closed. It was the land of no horizon.

The King's eyes surveyed this new earth and sparkled with joy. It was very, very good.



The Spirit and the bride say, "Come!" And let the one who hears say, "Come!" Let the one who is thirsty come; and let the one who wishes take the free gift of the water of life.

Waking the Dead

Everything was black except one white-clothed figure lying on the ground, golden hair flowing from her head.

I wouldn't normally do this, I thought, but I kneeled over her and prayed, my pounding heart the only sound in the blackness. My hand on her shoulder, I begged God to raise her from the dead.

I don't know how long I knelt there in that dream, but I know that I eventually saw the head lift, golden hair finally leaving the floor, her arms shakily propping herself up. Then, finally, like a baby animal of some kind, she rose to her feet.

I woke up and went about my normal college student morning, hitting the snooze button a few times, probably temporarily forgetting the dream, reading my Bible, spreading some cream cheese on a bagel. Then I got a call from a friend I was supposed to have lunch with.

She said she had to cancel because she was on the way to a hospital where her best friend's little sister lay in a coma.

The golden-haired girl had been in a horrible car accident, had been unresponsive for two weeks, and now no one was sure if she'd ever wake up. A 10% chance of waking. And if waking, then probably no walking. Possible paralysis.

10% chance.

A high school girl. Like I had been just a few years ago.

As I assured her that of course I completely understood, and I would be praying for her, my dream rushed back into my consciousness. I saw that girl getting shakily to her feet. I felt the power of the Most High God rush through my feeble hands and permeate that black room.

I felt it permeate this black world.

And, reopening my Bible and reading the stories of how Jesus raised that 12-year-old girl from the dead and healed a woman who had been bleeding for years, and knowing he is still able, I fasted and prayed most of the day for this girl I had never met and probably never will meet. Emotions that I knew were not my own rushed through me; passion poured through my heart that did not come from my mind but from heaven's. I felt a Father's heart for his daughter. I felt an entire community joining with this one college student in Austin, begging for one small life out of billions. Prayers were lifted that were not from our hearts but from His, power came from our words that was not our own power but His.

In my heart, I felt an incredible assurance. I knew with certainty that this girl would rise, that she would even walk. I knew He'd given me that dream for a reason. I treasured this in my heart, just between Jesus and me.

A few days later I got the word.

She woke up.

Weeks later, she walked.

Supported physically and emotionally by people who loved her, she walked out of the hospital.

As miraculous as this was, and how incredible as it was that Father allowed a distant, unrelated person like me to be a small part of it and watch Him do his thing, her wakefulness wasn't the biggest miracle. Her walking wasn't the biggest miracle.

The biggest miracle was what happened in the next few months, what I wasn't there for but what I can imagine: the mood swings, the progress, the letdowns, a family never giving up hope, taking her recovery painfully slow, day-by-day, moment-by-moment. A girl rediscovering every tiny bit of herself.

When Father shows up and does a momentary miracle, we all rejoice. We are in awe, and we wish we had more moments like that. But one second is not the end. One second may spur the beginning of a life change, one second may mark an important milestone, but the most awe-inspiring works of art take the most time. Relationships take a lot of time. People take a lot of time.

Jesus raised Lazarus from the dead in a matter of seconds. What we are not told was what happened afterward. What would you do if you thought your life was over, and suddenly you were awake again and had that precious time back? Though the miracle took seconds, the life that formed afterward was another miracle.

It only takes seconds for Jesus to raise a body.

It only takes seconds for him to salvage a soul.

May we rejoice even more in the hard, beautiful, refining times that follow, than in that one precious moment.

Discovering My Own Culture

I remember being in Japan a few years ago and having many hilarious stories of cultural mishaps by the end of the summer. There was that time I walked into a dressing room with my shoes on, another time when I wore the bathroom shoes out in the rest of the house, and that other time when my best friend had to put on a huge baggy t-shirt in the bathhouse because she had tattoos.

I remember often thinking, "Gee, I'm glad America doesn't have a whole lot of rules for politeness. I'm glad we're a 'low-context' culture." We are low-context, indeed, once you're IN that context. However, now that I'm living overseas in a vastly different culture, I am realizing that we DO have many standards of politeness and cultural "do's" and "don't"s. Being the American that I am, I had just considered them "common sense" before.

Living in another country, I have made a lot of adjustments to my behavior and responses to things, and I've tried my best to become what I need to become. But if someone over here were to ask me what's appropriate to do in American culture, these would be some of my "rules" for interacting with an American (or, who knows, perhaps just this American):

Rules for Interacting with Americans 

1.) Don't ask how much we paid for something. Now this rule needs some qualifications. I remember close friends asking how much I paid for my apartment in west campus, just so they could figure out where they wanted to live and scope out the price ranges. But here, the conversation goes something more like this:

"How much do you pay for your apartment?"
(Depending on my mood, I might say "not too much" and change the subject, or if I'm feeling just really dumb, I might actually tell them. One of three reactions follows)
a.) Ohhh, that is much too expensive.
b.) With furniture included? (No.) Ohhh, you pay too much.
c.) ...For a year? (No.) A MONTH?! Ohhhh, you pay too much.

Not to mention, this might not be from a close friend; this might be from a guy I've just met.

So, judging by my own inner reactions (don't worry, outwardly I'm polite, if perhaps a little short), I think that in the States it is more appropriate to not comment, or to say "What a good deal!" You're probably safest if you just don't ask in the first place and say something more like, "What a lovely apartment!" and just leave it at that.

2.) Precisely define the time you plan to come over.

When dealing with an American, it's usually not polite to say, "I will come over sometime Sunday," but never say the time. Then, it's really not polite to send them a text message at 7 p.m. saying, "Where are you? I am at your apartment!" because they might be, oh I don't know, at a restaurant? Usually just saying the day you will come over, without the time, is not acceptable...especially if you want them to actually be there when you arrive at the door. Also, it's not a good idea to randomly show up at 10 p.m. with a bunch of friends they don't know. Americans like their schedules...and their privacy.

3.) Allow us to use our left hand.

So first of all, I think this definitely stems from a deeper cultural difference. In the United States, we focus on allowing someone to be the individual they were born to be. So if someone begins to use their left hand from an early age, we encourage it. However, over here, the emphasis is on what is convenient for the group as a whole. What is convenient is to have everyone write right-handed from an early age. This way, there is no need for left-handed desks, scissors, or elbow-bumping at the table. Supposedly this also allows for more uniform writing. 

Anyway, here are some actual responses I have had when people find out I am left-handed:

a.) You use chopsticks/write with your LEFT hand! (exclamation and shock)

b.) You must be very clever! (So if lefties are clever, why do you make us change?)

c.) You cannot write characters with your left hand! You will never be able to write them correctly!

d.) *Takes pen out of my hand as though I am five years old and puts it in my right hand and forces me to write characters that way*

e.) Why are so many westerners left-handed?

I have made many left-handed friends here, surprisingly. I mean, none of them use their left hand to write, but a few have told me that they started out writing with their left hand before they had to change. I was playing tennis the other day and talking with my doubles partner to figure out which side we would each be on. When I told him I was left-handed, I assumed that would settle the question, but he promptly said, "Me too!" Good for him, keeping his left-handedness intact, even if only in sports. He must be very clever!

I will probably think of more later, so I'm sure there will be a Part 2 to this. I would love to hear about any things you've discovered about your own culture through being in another one!

Jesus Loves You

"Jesus loves you," she was assured, by people with big smiling faces who promptly went home to their big homes with big white families inside to eat a big Sunday dinner and watch football on a big TV.

"Jesus loves me," she sang with the rest of the kids in the Sunday School class, even though she might as well have been of a different species the way they wouldn't talk to her and giggled when she walked in.

"Jesus loves everyone," she was told she must tell others in order to be a good girl, by a pastor who didn't know her name and was more concerned about how many people came to a building each week than how many little girls didn't have a nice big family like his to go home to.

"Jesus loves the world," a cool video said, and she was told to go to Haiti and help build a home for orphans. But she didn't have the money to go with the rest of the youth group, and her parents thought it was pointless anyway, so she just longingly looked at the Facebook photos of the $70-Chacos-wearing youth group smiling with cute Haitian children.

And then, one day as she invisibly walked home from school with a heavy-laden backpack, not invited to get ice cream with the rest of the school friends who would then tell her Jesus loved her on Sunday at youth group, someone called her name.

"Hey!" said a girl from the wrong side of the tracks, wearing dirty white sneakers and a nose ring. They'd talked a couple times in homeroom and realized they lived in the same neighborhood and liked the same TV show. "You want to come eat with my family and me? And then maybe we can watch TV!"

In that moment, for the first time in a long time, she wondered if someone up there just might love her.