Friday morning at Catalyst West, and Donald Miller is interviewing Gary Haugen, President and CEO of International Justice Mission. IJM is a human
rights agency that secures justice for victims of slavery, sexual
exploitation and other forms of violent oppression. I recently interviewed Lauren Johnson at the IJM headquarters in Washington, DC human trafficking.
Anyway, here at Catalyst West, Miller had just said, "What you do dictates the way people live," and then he asked Haugen what motivates him. Here's what he said:
if I don't get up and do what I do, a little girl will be forced into prostitution.
Many Christians see nothing wrong with being the captain of their own ship, charting a course in search of meaning and purpose. Whether it takes 40 days or 40 years, we know for certain that a life of substance exists because Jesus himself promised it to us:
"Yes, I am the gate. Those who come in through me will be saved.They will come and go freely and will find good pastures. The thief’s purpose is to steal and kill and destroy. My purpose is to give them a rich and satisfying life" (John 10:9-10, NLT).
For purposes of clarification, a "rich and satisfying life" does not imply riches (despite how proponents of the prosperity gospel might interpret this verse). Christ did not come to earth to make us financially wealthy (sorry, Joel Osteen). Neither did he come to make sure we were comfortable and safe. Just ask any of the first-century Christians. Oh, wait--you can't ask them because they're dead, having been tortured to death because of their allegiance to Christ. They took that whole "take up your cross and follow me" directive seriously.
How can we seize the day - pursue life with passion and conviction - without falling into the trap of doing, climbing, competing, striving, getting, consuming, accumulating?
I rarely cross-post pieces between here and my blog at Beliefnet.com, but I have a sense with this one that I am supposed to do it, so here goes...
I have a birthday that stops people in their tracks. An elder Generation Xer, I was born on June 6, 1966. Yup. 6.6.66.
People at motor vehicle and police officers stopping me for speeding (call me 'lead-foot') would take my identification, read silently, look up with the same playful-yet-mildly-freaked-out expression and say something like, "Whoa, 6.6.66, huh? That's some birthday." Kids, who were not so polite, would say, "Hey, is that carved on your head?" (The Omen hit the big screen when I was about 10.)
Watch this hialrious video and then feel free to read on.
I’ve never been a master of language. In fact, I’m still learning the do’s and don’t's of the English language and it’s the only one I know. Conversation goes beyond language. In my experience, conversation is what takes place when a deeper purpose is in mind than the mere exchange of words. Conversation is challenging and rewarding. Conversation is educational and inspiring. Conversation swims in the deep end and strikes a loudly orchestrated cord within us.
It’s not too often that I remember the words I’ve spoken throughout the day. Yet, I remember certain conversations I’ve had with people that go way back. Here are just a few that come to mind now:
Convo numero uno: Back in the fall of 2005, I sat in the female prayer room of an Islamic Mosque in Cambridge, Massachusetts where I dialogued with a Muslim woman named Nataka (she told me her name means peace). Nataka and I conversed for over an hour discussing Islam’s major objections to Christianity. More than we probably realized at the time was taking place there than the exchange of words. Both Nataka and I had purpose and meaning behind our every word which made this conversation unforgettable. We both spoke with authority about what we believed. I didn’t convince Nataka that day that Jesus was her only answer to her life’s journey to find purpose. Sitting in a prayer room, I boldly asked my new friend if it would be ok for me to pray for her to my God, her Father. She accepted, I prayed out loud in the prayer room of the Mosque, we embraced and I left. I will never forget our conversation that day.
Convo numero dos: It’s a hot day in southern California and I’m reading on the patio of a local coffee shop. A man sitting a few small round table over calls out to me, “do you speak Hebrew?” “Shalom,” I replied. At that, he rose from his chair and joined me at my table. The man was an Israeli and quickly learned that Shalom was about the only word I knew in Hebrew. Yet, his question launched us into an incredible conversation about the Jewish boy named Jesus. Having much respect for the man Jesus, this Israeli was not convinced he was the Messiah his people had been waiting for. And there I was sharing with him the reasons why I believe he and I share the same ancestry. What a fun conversation this was! In sharing about Abraham, we were like 2 kids talking about how much we loved our grandpa. I never got the mans name that day.
Convo numero tres: It was summer of 2005 and I was in my final days of an 8 week stay in Moldova. I was staying with an incredible woman named Tatyana. Sitting in her home one evening, we had a conversation about her life during the communist regime. Tatyana didn’t know English and I didn’t know Romanian so we spoke through her son-in-law on the phone just over the border in Romania. Tatyana told me what it was like to worship God during a time when Atheist ruled. She told stories of reprinting sections of the Bible using Russian letters as a disguise. There were stories of building a church of stone without machinery. Her and her friends literally smoothed concrete with their bare hands. She had the scars to show me. On that evening in her tiny apartment, with her son-in-law on the line in Romania, I felt like we were, in a fraction of a way, living out Hebrews 13:3.
Remember those in prison as if you were their fellow prisoners, and those who are mistreated as if you were yourselves were suffering.
When Bradley Geohagan’s first son underwent open-heart surgery just three days after his birth, he did quite a bit of soul-searching. “I was not going in the direction I wanted to in life yet,” he says. But soon after Daniel came through his surgery, Bradley gained clarity.
He returned home, refurbished his father’s 1950s woodworking shop, and got to work. “I saw my father work in that same shop, and I realized that it was how I learned who my dad was so well. I wanted Daniel to see who I was, and also to be able to be there anytime he needed me.”
Bradley is the seventh generation of woodworkers in Pensacola, Fla. “I used to introduce myself as my father’s son or I am Edwin Thorn’s grandson, or Clayton Geohagan’s grandson, to people I would meet. It gave me a certain credit right away. Very young I began to appreciate that they were leaving a good name for me.”
